The Adventures of HJ Potter
by Fullmetal Wetback
Summary: A story of what might've been had the Dursleys 'lost' Harry in the U.S. where he was found and raised by escaped convict Sirius Black. Then, he's found just in time for the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament. Let the chaos commence.HPDG.
1. Tossed in New York City

**A/N: Okay, so first off, allow me to apologize to all my readers (all three or four of 'em) and let me explain my mysterious absence. I'd had enough of the so-called 'civilized life' and decided to rough it for a few months. I went out, got a tent, sleeping bag, all that bullshit, and four pounds of what I fondly refer to as 'my bright green muse,' then my buddy dropped me off in some forest in Oregon.**

**Now, I'll tell you something right now. If you ever feel the need to do anything like this, take off the marijuana from your checklist of survival items and add paper. I write for a living, you need to realize this. And a writer without any sort of writing materials is just some bum in the woods with a shit-load of weed.**

**But being among all those trees and shrubs and little forest animals allowed my mind to open up and just think for long periods of time (the kush helped, too). Being without paper, and with no feasible means of writing, short of using a porcupine quill and various berries and wild plants to write on tree bark, I just kept them in my head.**

**And so, after three months out in the wild (whereas I thought it was almost a year), I hitched a ride into the nearest town (lovely little place called Thatchland), hit the homie up, and before I knew it, I was lying in front of a Target, one of the many places I wake up after a night on the town. But that's not for now. Now, I'm here to share with you some of the many vague ideas and thoughts learned in the dappled forests of the semi-Northwest.**

**If anyone's still reading this retardedly long author's note, well, that's more than I can say I'd do. But now **_**you**_**, the faithful or bored reader, get to see the full summary of the fic, even though the others who jumped this note are already reading it. Y'know, what? I think I'll just do the summary now.**

**So, what if the dear old Dursleys took a hop across the Pond and 'accidentally' left an eight-year-old Harry in the Big Bad Apple? And what'll happen when Dumbledore's crew finally tracks him down after six years? How will a Harry who was raised in America react to the Triwizard Tournament? Find out in **_**The Adventures of Harry J. Potter!**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has already been copyrighted by someone else. Then again, that's pretty much the point of a copyright, so technically, I shouldn't really **_**have**_** to do this stupid thing.**

Chapter 1-Tossed in New York City

3 July, 1998

Somewhere above the North Atlantic Ocean

"I still don't see why we couldn't just dump the boy off on one of your friends, Petunia," Vernon Dursley complained petulantly. "This damnable trip is costing me a fortune with the boy coming along with us!"

"Shh!" hissed his wife. Her dark eyes darted about as she craned her long neck to see if one of their fellow passengers had the nerve to eavesdrop. "All of my friends are coming to the wedding as well, Vernon. Not to mention," she leaned in closer as she dropped her voice, "one of _his lot_ came to the house before we left and told me that we needed to take him with us, something about_ blood wards_ and _traveling protection_ or some such nonsense." Her face soured, as if she'd tasted some badly-aged wine.

They, along with their son, Dudley, and their nephew (the boy in question), Harry, were on a trans-Atlantic flight from Heathrow to the John F. Kennedy Airport for one of Petunia's friends' wedding, which was to be held in a fancy hotel in Soho. And since Vernon hadn't wanted to spend more than absolutely necessary, the four of them were crammed into a row on the left-hand aisle, almost dead-center of the plane. Both Harry and Dudley were asleep, having closed their eyes after the in-flight movie had gotten boring.

Vernon glared at his nephew's sleeping form, seething silently to himself. That damned boy had been nothing but trouble since the day Petunia had found him on their doorstep. Why, just a few weeks ago, the little wanker had been caught on the roof of his school's cafeteria, of all the places in the world.

_How the bloody hell did he even get up there in the first place?_ he wonderd idly. All he knew was that something had to be done about this menace to his mental well-being. But what?

As he strained his mind for the solution, Vernon went through each and every possibility his brain tossed his way as throroughly as possible. If he just gave the boy up for adoption, his lot would find him and there was a quite feasible chance that they would punish Vernon himself. He could try contacting one of those...wizards (he shuddered at the mere thought)...to see if they would take Harry. That might work. Another idea that Vernon thought had some merit was to frame the boy for a serious crime like drug possession and have him tossed in whatever local boy's home would have him, but that seemed too much of a bother.

_Ugh! If only there was someplace we could just ditch the boy and be done with it all, once and for-_ He paused mid-thought, mouth agape and mind whirling, the cogs in his mind spinning into overdrive.

A slow, menacing smile crept across his ruddy visage as a plan started piecing itself together. The evil smirk was not unlike the one seen on Saturday-morning cartoon villains, only slightly more dramatic.

Petunia took note of her husband's peculiar expression. "Vernon," she said, "what's the matter?" He told her. In seconds, her face matched his.

"Get up, boy! The plane's emptying out and you're holding us up!" Harry opened his eyes and blinked, rubbing the sleep away as he sat up from his previous position of leaning against the window pane.

As soon as he stretched and got into the aisle, his uncle thrust the carry-on baggage into his arms. Harry staggered under the weight for a moment before he got his feet under him, and he looked around briefly. Most of the seats around theirs were empty, and many of the remaining passengers were heading out of the door that led out to the terminal.

Harry took not two steps before he felt a pudgy leg hook around his own, and the next moment, he found himself face-down on the scratchy carpet with a mild pain in his chest, where some very solid piece of luggage was digging into his torso. In the background, he could hear his cousin tittering madly.

Then a pair of strong hands picked him up from under his arms and set him on his feet. Harry looked up to thank his aide and felt the vaguest hints of déjà vu. The man was in his mid- to late-thirties, and his handsome face was framed by a dark goatee and a shock of matching hair, which fell elegantly into his gray eyes.

He wasn't particularly tall, but to Harry, he was a giant. "You alright, then?" asked the man with a kind smile and a British accent. Harry nodded blankly. The man started picking up the luggage that Harry dropped.

"Th-thank you, sir," Harry said as he grabbed up one of the bags.

"How old are you, pup?"

"I'll be eight in a few weeks, sir," Harry replied. The man looked at him, surprised, then turned to Vernon.

"I know it's not my place to give parenting advice," he started, "but I don't think you should be making such a small eight-year-old boy carry all of your luggage. He might have gotten seriously hurt during that fall."

Vernon flared up immediately. "You're right," he growled. "It's _not_ your place to give me _any_ kind of advice, friend."

"I'm not your friend, pal," the man told him coldly.

"Well, I'm not your pal, buddy," Vernon informed him, vein pulsing in his temple.

"Don't call me your buddy, friend," replied the mysterious fellow, and Harry suddenly realized that he was purposely angering Vernon with his mindless arguments, and he stifled a grin that was bubbling up to the surface.

After several seconds of this back and forth cycle, Vernon harumphed, grabbed the bags and barreled past the man, who slipped into the seats to avoid the larger man's girth. As Harry passed him, the man flashed him a smile and handed him a card.

"In case you ever need anything, kid," he said, and then he started grabbing his own carry-ons from the overhead compartments.

Harry ran to catch up to his relatives, then glanced at the card curiously. It seemed to be made of shiny paper, but it was as smooth as silk.

Sirius Orion Black, Esq.

Black Steel Mill

534-7898

553-2785

He turned the card over, and a picture of the man smiled back at him. Harry looked back, but the man, Sirius Black, was gone. Harry whirled around to find Black, but the man was nowhere to be seen. But where could he have got to?

Before Harry could do anything else, he heard Uncle Vernon bellow, "Boy! If I have to go back into that plane and get you, you'll be sorry!" Not wanting to bring the wrath of Dursley upon himself, Harry grabbed up the remaining bags and scurried out of the aircraft, all the while wondering who Sirius Black was.

Inside the airport, however, his curiosity vanished in the multicolored whirl of people. JFK was much larger than Heathrow, and much more interesting. Everywhere he looked, Harry found something more strange and wonderful than the next.

But the most interesting thing there was the people: they ranged from the scruffiest, mangiest-looking old man with dirty, threadbare clothing and dreadlocked hair to the smartest, prettiest business woman wearing a crisp, fresh-pressed suit, hair glossy and smooth.

As Harry and the Dursleys passed a group of men chattering excitedly in what Harry believed was some Asian language, he suddenly felt strangely miniscule. In Little Whinging, there were plenty of people, sure, but he'd never seen so many at once, at the same place. It made him realized that this massive crush of humans was only a diminutive fraction of what lay outside, in one of the largest cities in the United States, which made London look like a steamboat compared to a battleship.

Once they retrieved their baggage from the luggage carousel and stepped outside, Harry found that he was right. The sheer numbers made him dizzy, and the noise, sights, smells, all assaulted him at the same time.

"Wow," he said, completely awestruck.

"Shut up and get a move on," barked Vernon. They caught a cab to the hotel they had booked and got ready for the wedding, which was in roughly four hours. Dudley and Vernon were dressed smartly in tuxedos, Vernon's vest and tie a deep violet color, while Dudley's looked rather like old mustard. Harry was wearing a three-piece that Vernon had found in a thrift store that was near their shelter for their stay. It was rather tattered, but the suit and pants were still jet-black, and fit him somewhat well. The tie was a brilliant green, and his shirt was a crisp white.

Harry glared at himself in the mirror. As of late, he'd found himself with a streak of vanity, and he wondered if the tie was too much, and if it distracted from his eyes, rather than enhance them. He scrunched his face as he felt a small hole at the seam that connected his left sleeve to the shoulder of the jacket. Then he grinned and ripped it slightly, and did the same to the other. The rips, he decided, made him look that much cooler. He ruffled his hair up so that his bangs covered his lightning-bolt scar, and a bit of his brilliant eyes.

"Stop looking at yourself in the mirror, boy," shouted Vernon as he straightened his bow-tie and neatly tucked the matching handkerchief into his breast pocket and cuffed Harry upside his head. "And do something with your damned hair. All that staring into the mirror, you'd think you were doing drugs."

"Maybe I will," muttered Harry under his breath.

"What was that!"

"Nothing," Harry replied quickly. He expertly slipped his tie into a Double Windsor knot, having watched Aunt Petunia do it for Dudley hundreds of times, and then followed Uncle Vernon and Dudley out of their room and down the stairs.

The wedding lasted for about three hours because the groom had gotten cold feet, and his best man found him in a bar. For the duration of the entire ceremony, the soon-to-be-husband kept swaying where he stood, and there was a definitive reek of booze about him. The bride seemed to notice nothing at all.

The reception was a much more pleasant affair than the actual wedding, and a lot more fun. There was an open bar, and Vernon and Petunia headed straight for it.

By eleven o'clock that night, both were nicely buzzed, and they decided to set their plan into motion, and be gone by tomorrow afternoon.

"Boy!" Vernon grunted, stumping over to where Dudley and Harry had been sitting. Harry looked up to see his uncle holding a large, brown-tinted bottle with the words Jack Daniels on the label.

"I didn't do anything!" Harry said before his uncle could punish him. What surprised him was when Vernon started chuckling in a way that Harry had previously only seen him use when in Dudley's company.

"I know you didn't, boy," Vernon said, sinking into a chair near Harry's. "That's why you get a special treat. He poured a measure of whatever was in the bottle into the cup that Harry had been drinking out of. Harry took a whiff and jerked his head away swiftly. Vernon laughed. "That's strong stuff, boy. Have at it."

Harry took a sip and coughed, sputtering. "I remember my first taste of liquor," Vernon said reminiscently. He got up and disappeared into the crowd.

"Let me get some," Dudley said immediately, elbowing Harry and snatching his cup. There was more than enough for the both of them.

Harry swirled the harsh-scented liquor around in his cup, then raised his eyes to his cousin, who was doing the same thing with the liquor he'd taken out of Harry's. "Bottoms up, cousin," he said, raising his glass and putting it to his lips.

Hours later, Harry was staggering along, supported by his uncle, while Aunt Petunia was showcasing a mother's strength by half-carrying her son through the streets to their hotel.

"You weren't supposed to get Dudley smashed as well, Vernon," Petunia hissed. She looked around. The street was devoid of any form of life. Tendrils of steam hissed out of the manholes in the street. There were no streetlights on this particular block, and the moon and stars provided little help. "This will do."

Vernon suddenly pushed Harry into a side-alley, slipping a twenty-dollar bill into the pocket of his suit jacket. "There," he said gruffly. "I'm not completely devoid of any emotions. Have a nice life, boy. And good riddance."

He went to help his wife, and the two took off at a jog while supporting Dudley.

Harry had landed on a large pile of cardboard and lay staring up at the dark sky as it spun lazily over his head. There was no room in his cobwebby mind for any thought whatsoever. His brain was waterlogged with the wonderful beverage that was Jack Daniels. Even though he knew that he'd drunk extremely too much for his first time, Harry was still in a state of complete bliss.

And so, it was in this mentality that Harry fell asleep in a side-alley in New York City, completely unaware that in a few short hours, his only blood relatives would be on a flight back to England, leaving him with little money, only the clothes on his back, and no clue whatsoever as to what to do when he woke up.

**A/N: So that little deformed brainchild you've just read was one of the billions of miniscule thoughts that passed through my mind during my 'mind trip' in the woods, and it was one of the few that I managed to get hold of before I forgot about it in my stoned mentality. There will be others, on a few other fanfiction(dot)net links like Naruto, Bleach, and Pokémon, and maybe even some others. Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you come back for more. FMW**


	2. Lucky Dog Star

**A/N: Wow, I've written a couple fanfictions before this, and I've gotta say, I've never gotten **_**seven**_** reviews in the span of a few hours after posting. I feel so happy, I'll be uploading the second chapter, as you can obviously see. Anyway, here is the second chapter, in which we discover what happened to poor Harry, and the madness that resulted from the Wizarding World's savior getting lost in New York City. So, here's that. Oh, and this is the first time that I've had enough reviewers to do that reviewer reply thing, so:**

**notyou: I'm flattered that you think so, and I can take all the luck I can get. Thanks.**

**Naginator: That issue will be addressed in this chappie, so be patient, por favor.**

**Gulian: Thanks for the support. I hope this is a quick enough update for you, and I also hope that this is enough chapter growth as well.**

**Riotstarter1214: I know I'm awesome, but it's always nice to hear it from somebody other than the voices in my head, y'know?**

**HP-DG-SB-LL-CC-KB-AJ-HA-NT-RR- You have a really long penname, there, you know that? Anyway, I will indeed be continuing this story for as long as humanly possible. Look forward to updates, but not as quick as this one. I'm just super psyched that I got **_**seven**_** review in a few hours. That's dope as fuck.**

**Victorules: Thanks for the kind words. As a writer, I'm always really insecure about my writing, and it's cool to hear that people like it.**

**KoniK47- This idea came to me in a drug-induced stupor, so thank whatever powers that may be for this and keep reading. Thanks.**

**Wow, that felt pretty cool. Bring me more reviews for sustenance and I'll keep cranking out chapters, folks. Now, on with the fic!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own shit.**

Chapter 2-Lucky Dog Star

6 July, 1998

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Somewhere in Northern Scotland, United Kingdom

Rita Skeeter was happy. No, she decided, frowning slightly as she cast for the appropriate word. A blissful smile crossed her face as she found it. Ecstatic. Yes, that's the one.

Her newly invented Quick-Quotes Quill had become her best friend in journalism, and she wasn't about to sell this idea to anyone. Then there would be reporters by the cauldron-loads.

She was at a press conference that Albus Dumbledore had called in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and the bombshell he'd dropped on them was one for the books. The Magical World's savior, Harry Potter, had wandered off and had become lost somewhere in the United States.

Her quill was working the double-shift as the ICWs most senior members bickered like school kids, and there were desperate shouts for firecalls to the U.S. so they could start the search immediately. Oh, she knew this was going to be a good day.

Rita saw Dumbledore's tall, slim frame straighten to its full height as he stood. He tried to calm everyone down with easy gestures of his hands, his eyes doing that damnable twinkling as they do most of the time. When that failed, Dumbledore cleared his throat and raised his hands in front of him, eyes devoid of any twinkling.

"May I have your attention?" His magically-enhanced voice boomed like thunder, reminding them all why this man was the Supreme Mugwump. "Now, we must all cease our quarreling and place the matter at hand at the foremost of all our thoughts."

Cornelius Fudge, the English Minister of Magic shuffled nervously at the Hufflepuff table, fiddling with the brim of his bowler hat. "Do you think Sirius Black might have bewitched those Muggles and kidnapped Potter?" The most dangerous criminal to ever be imprisoned in Azkaban had recently escaped from the terrible fortress, and the entire United Kingdom was in a frenzy trying to capture him.

Dumbledore, however, shook his head negatively. "I do not believe that Mr. Black was responsible for this."

"What makes finding Potter so important?" cried the German representative in a thick accent. "Why does the world need to grind to a halt when he goes missing."

"I am not at liberty to discuss the specifics," said Dumbledore gravely. "Suffice it to say, Harry's is one of, if not _the_ most important role in events yet to pass."

"You sound like a demented old Seer," burst out Nikolai Vassikin, the Russian Minister of Magic. "Either that or you're becoming senile in your old age, Dumbledore. What are you now, one-eighty, two hundred years old?"

"You should respect your elders, young man," Albus said quietly.

"Not when they aren't in their right minds," growled Nikolai. "You're just a pathetic old fossil who's decades past his prime." He suddenly went for his wand. His hand never even got to brush his handle when Dumbledore's spell struck, an Impediment Jinx.

"Minister Vassikin clearly needs to get some fresh air and cool his temper," Dumbledore said to a stunned International Confederation of Wizards. "I suggest we take a short ten-minute recess and continue afterward."

Rita was speechless. Everyone thought the old man had degenerated into just that: and _old man_. But that draw was faster than anything she'd ever witnessed in all her thirty-nine years of life. Why, if Rita had blinked, she would've missed it _and_ the jinx.

Luckily, her quill hadn't been awestruck and had continued to write furiously. Rita halted it with a gesture, and looked at the parchment.

_Nikolai Vassikin, fifty-nine year old Russian Minister of Magic, became enraged at the firm insistence of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump, Head Warlock of the Wizengamot, and a distinguished member of the ICW, to form a rescue attempt to find young Harry James Potter, 8, who was abandoned by his horrid Muggle relatives in the United States, and attempted to outdraw who we believe to be a 'harmless old man.'_

_Dumbledore's wand was in his hand as if he'd Teleported it there and snapped off an Impediment Jinx that struck the too-slow Vassikin mid-motion, hand twelve full centimeters away from his wand. Needless to say, had the Russian Minister been an enemy of Dumbledore's. . .well, let's just say he wouldn't be with us right now._

Rita almost giggled with joy. It had been worth all those botched attempts at a unique narrating quill. Oh, how happy that day when she accidentally discovered the lovely feather before her.

She turned, slipping the parchment into her purse, coaxing her quill in after it. She had a lot of writing to do if she wanted to make tomorrow's front page.

Harry Potter was sitting inside the World Trade Center Subway Station, empty can in front of him and a sign that read, NEED MONEY, PLEASE, next to him. His normally bright green eyes had lost their luster, and his hair was even more messy than ever. His once-decent suit was now dirty and frayed from living for three days on his own.

When he'd woken up, the sun was already sinking back down to the west, and it was doing absolutely nothing for the nearly incapacitating headache he'd received from the liquor. He checked in his pockets and found a twenty-dollar bill folded neatly in his hand.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry went to find his hotel. Many of the people he'd stopped to ask for directions were rude and sarcastic, but one nice man with a clearly-faked French accent pointed Harry down the right path.

But he only found bad news when he arrived at the lobby. The concierge informed him that the Dursleys had left over an hour ago, at five at night, but they had left his luggage for him, along with a false message so as not to alert the authorities, telling him to have fun living with some obscure and fictitious relative. Harry was crushed. He walked out with not the faintest clue as to where he was going or what he should do.

Now, as people strode past him, Harry knew that if he didn't figure out what to do now, he wouldn't be long for this world. He still had fifty-two cents from the twenty the Dursleys had left him, and he had learned to panhandle quickly after looking down in the subways and seeing the various musicians and bums looking for a quick buck. The musicians, he'd come to observe, got more money than most of the bums, except for the ones with physical disabilities.

This had gotten him to thinking. If he looked the worse for wear, he might be able to get enough money to get a ticket back to Heathrow and from there he could hitch a ride back to Little Whinging.

There was just one big hole in his plan. As he'd soon learned, not many people really cared much for those who begged for money. In fact, in three days, Harry had gotten twelve dollars in change. Harry was rather good at math, and he had figured it pretty fast. If this kept on, with four dollars a day, wasting three dollars on food a day, he'd have enough for a thousand-dollar ticket in around three and a half years.

Harry needed some food, and to get food, he needed money. As to _how_ to get that money...well, he had time to come up with a plan.

While he was pondering this conundrum, he watched the people passing him on their way to the underground trains. A particularly well-dressed man walked by, and Harry raised his cup with a hopeful, "Spare some change, sir?"

"Sorry, not right now," the man replied as he absently counted a roll of large notes. Harry frowned as the man placed it in the pocket of his jacket.

_What a greedy person,_ Harry thought. As he watched, the man leaned on a column to wait for his train and started fiddling with an expensive-looking digital watch, Harry wished that the man had given him at least _something_.

Harry turned to thank the old lady who dropped some coins into his cup, and when he twisted back to look at the greedy man, something smacked into his nose, knocking his glasses askew. He looked down and saw a roll of green papers sitting in his lap.

For a moment, Harry just looked at the money. Then he collected his wits and snatched it, cramming the wad of cash into his pocket quickly. He sat on the cold subterranean floor and felt strangely tired, even though he'd just woken up an hour or two ago.

_How did that man's money fly at me?_ Harry wondered. Then a thought sparked in his brain and he frowned. _Did I somehow make it come out of his pocket? _Back at Number 4, he'd seen a news report about people who could supposedly move things with their minds, telekinesis or something. _Maybe I'm a telepath,_ he thought idly. _Well, there's no time like the present to find out._

He looked around and saw a penny on the floor about a yard away from him. He glared at it, silently demanding that it come to him. When it remained on the ground, Harry scrunched up his face and focused his mind like a laser beam at the rounded piece of copper.

"Come on," he breathed. The penny shot at Harry like a bullet, striking him in the shoulder. It hurt, but the euphoria he felt when he realized that he could move objects with his will drowned out the pain. He found the solution to his problem. He knew now that he could probably live here in the United States more comfortably than he had with the Dursleys.

_Time to get some more money,_ he thought to himself, emptying the cup of change into his pockets, standing up, and leaving the subway station, whistling a happy tune.

Harry eyed his next target thoughtfully. After a few days refining his technique, his pick-pocketing career was off to a flying start. He chose his victims morally, only stealing from those who looked as though they could lose a couple bucks and still have enough to wipe their bums with.

This newest target, a woman in her late forties, was laughing with one of her girlfriends in a fur coat outside a fancy restaurant, waiting for a valet to bring her car around. Her purse was open and she was holding it by only one of its dark leather straps so the contents were clearly visible to Harry, who was standing nearby, pretending to seek shelter from the rain under the large awning above the building's double doors.

The woman got into a shiny Porsche a minute or two later, and Harry grabbed a newspaper out of the dispenser, held it over his head and dashed away, now holding the woman's pocketbook full of money and credit cards.

He ran for three whole blocks, stopping only when the stitch in his side was too unbearable to ignore anymore. He ducked into an alley and sat down on a piece of cardboard to count his reward.

"Nice trick there, pup," a voice said. Harry leapt to his feet, a knife in the hand where the pocketbook had been a moment before. Leaning against a dumpster nearby was a man that Harry had seen only once before, but still remembered the kindness he'd shown.

"Mr. Black!" Harry exclaimed. "Wha-you saw?"

Black chuckled, twirling the jet-colored umbrella he was holding. "Yep. It's pretty amazing that you can pull off a wandless, subvocalized Summoner at eight, Harry. You're already better with one of those than your dad was in his prime."

"You knew my father?" Harry asked. "And a what kind of summoner? Hold on." Harry eyed Black suspiciously. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm your godfather," he said. "Sirius Orion Black, last of the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black. And _you_," he added, poking a finger into Harry's scrawny chest, "are Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter, last of the Great and Noble House of Potter, as well as a thief."

"Godfather?" Harry repeated blankly. "Wait a minute. What the hell is a noble and most ancient house? And what am I supposed to do, starve? I only filch from rich people anyway."

"It's actually 'moste' with an 'e,' although that's beside the point. Why don't we talk somewhere less wet?" Black said. "Here, hold on to my hand tight." 

Harry looked at the proffered palm for a moment, mind whirling. This guy could just as easily be lying and be some kind of stalker. But something about this man made Harry feel more at ease. He took Black's hand.

"Okay, this may be a bit uncomfortable, but just bear with me." Black squeezed Harry's hand, spun around, and then Harry felt the most horrible sensation in his young life. It was like being squeezed though a pipe, being compressed on all sides with nothing but blackness everywhere.

Then they were suddenly in a sparsely furnished room. Harry gasped for breath and sat down heavily on a moth-eaten couch whose color was indiscernible.

"Wh-what the bloody hell was _that_!" Harry managed between gulps of air.

"Apparition," Black replied. "I'll tell you about that in a moment though. There's something very important that you need to know. What you just did with that pocketbook was magic. You, pup, are a wizard."

Harry stared at the man. A wizard? Was he out of his bloody mind? "You're joking, right?"

"I'm deadly serious. No pun intended," he added as an afterthought. "I met your father on the train to go to a school for young wizards when we were eleven years old. I met your mum that day, too, but she got pissed and left the carriage we were in. But that's not the point. The point is, you have magic running through your veins."

"No," Harry said. "I can move things like that because I'm a telepath. I'm using psychokinesis, not magic." But as he said this, he had a feeling that it was a complete lie.

Black grinned. His teeth started sharpening, and the next moment, he was an enormous dog, its fur the color of his hair. Another moment later, he reverted to his natural form, still grinning. "Magic is the most wonderful thing," he said. "And from what I've seen you do, you'll make a damn fine wizard."

Harry lowered his eyes to his hands, then said. "So if you're my godfather, then how is it that this is the first I've seen you? Why couldn't I have lived with you instead of the Dursleys?"

Black scratched the back of his head. "Well, for the past seven years, I've been, er, in the wizard prison Azkaban. About a month ago, I decided I'd bust out and try to find you. And it's a good thing that I did, too, or I never would've seen you and your relatives getting on that plane." 

"What were you in for?"

"No reason whatsoever," he said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "It's an extremely long story, Harry."

"I'm not going anywhere," replied the eight-year-old, crossing his arms stubbornly, forcefully reminding Sirius of his mother when she would catch the Marauders in a prank. For the next thirty or so minutes, Black wove a tale of four friends, and the Judas among them who sometimes went by the name of Wormtail. Then he had to backtrack and inform Harry about a certain Dark Lord and how he, Harry, was destined to one day fight the evil wizard.

"This sounds like a bad cartoon," Harry said, but deep down, he somehow knew that all this man, who was apparently his godfather, was being truthful. Sirius must've seen it in his face because he smirked.

"I'll prove that magic is real," he said, withdrawing a roughly foot-long piece of wood and waved it. The lamp on the bedside table floated over, just as money had for Harry for the past couple of days.

Sirius then proceeded to transform the lamp into a large tabby cat, then a red-tailed hawk, and finally returned it to its lamp state. Harry continued to stare even after Sirius was finished and floated the lamp back to the bedside.

"I can show you how to use magic, if you'd like," Sirius said. "We'll have to get some things, but now that I'm in the U.S., I can access my vaults even if I'm a convicted felon in England, so money is no problem."

"I suppose," Harry said. "Are you any good at it?" 

"Good?" Sirius repeated, blinking. "Why, I was ranked second in the world at the last World Dueling Championships before I was tossed into Azkaban."

"Who got first?"

"Your father," Sirius said, winking at Harry. "By the time I'm through with you, you'll probably be almost as good as me!

"But first things first," he said, turning serious. "If you're going to be a wizard, you're gonna need a proper wand. And to get a proper wand, we need to go to Ellis Island."

"What's at Ellis Island?" Harry asked.

A slow, canine grin spread across Sirius' face, and Harry suddenly had a bad feeling in the back of his head. "Why Harry, only the largest all-wizard city in the world!"

If Harry was awed by New York City, it was absolutely _miniscule_ compared to what he experienced the very first time he clapped eyes on _Magical_ New York City, known thousands of years ago as the thriving metropolis of Atlantis.

MNYC, as Sirius explained while giving Harry the grand tour, was the first all-magical colony actually created by a large number of magicians. They believed that their powers would better help the normal humans, or as they called them then, Commons, from afar. According to historical records, several thousand magicians, down to the very smallest child, Summoned the very floor of the ocean to rise up. It took all of their might, but after two days, an island as large as modern-day Rhode Island surfaced in the middle of the Atlantic Sea. The task force of wizards and witches suffered complete magical exhaustion, and lay on the beach for three days. When they recovered, they began building what would soon be called the most advanced civilization on Earth.

For nearly a thousand years, Atlantis thrived, creating a golden age that spread round the world. But the first generation of Atlanteans, or the Raisers, as they were named, hadn't set the enchantments that held the island up properly, or rather, hadn't had the right kind of magic available to them at the time, and so, in a single day and night, the great civilization of Atlantis sank into the sea, never to resurface again. Or at least, so far.

When they realized what was going on, the Atlanteans used a collective Bubblehead Charm that somehow combined to form a protective shield against the seawater. Meanwhile, the enchantments that once held Atlantis tall and proud reversed, and after sinking, Atlantis actually began moving slowly across the sea floor.

For hundreds of years, Atlantis inched across the bottom of the Atlantic, and all the while the Atlanteans were trying to fix the madness that had by then become the norm to them. They learned the speech of the merpeople that lived in secret colonies in the Atlantic and began a trade network with them, and survived thusly.

Then, in 1734, Atlantis finally made its way right next to the eastern coast of what is today called the United States, and stopped, with no understandable reason why. The Atlanteans refined their massive bubble against leaks and wear, using the largest diamond ever found as a magical amplifier to power a Bubblehead Charm cast by the King of Atlantis every two years, just in case. All was well until the late eighteen-hundreds, when the New York Subway construction got underway. The earth displaced in the creation of the massive underground network of trains was dumped almost directly on top of Atlantis, which had since then become embedded into the ocean floor.

It was in 1885 that the first contact since the early days was made by the ruler of Atlantis to the mainland wizards and witches, who then coerced the Commons to dump the dirt a few miles away, where Ellis Island now stands. Eventually, Atlantis became open to the American magicians, and later the capital city of magical U.S, and the only entrance to Atlantis is on Ellis Island, where the Statue of Liberty was placed as a cover.

Harry still felt sick from the ride down; his stomach was still up in the maintenance room inside of Lady Liberty, which, once the right mop was tapped with a magical wand, revealed itself to be the elevator from Hell.

"Y'okay there?" Sirius asked, helping Harry down a street called Franklin Avenue. "Here, lemme make it better." He pulled his wand from the holster with a flick of his wrist and made a slight, sweeping motion. The tip glowed blue for a moment, then Harry felt suddenly better.

"How'd you do that?" he asked as they continued down Franklin, passing other magicians on their way to wherever it was they were going. It still amazed Harry at the kinds of shops they were passing. Not only were there apothecaries and menageries and magical book shops and broom stores, but there were even Common restaurant chains like McDonalds and In-N-Out.

"It's a pretty good Sobering Charm I picked up," Sirius explained. "It's especially good with nausea, so I thought it might work with your ailment. In here," he added, pointing to a very dingy-looking building wedged between a magical sporting-goods store and a new robes store whose designs Harry decided he liked.

Harry pushed open the door, and a clear, chiming sounded somewhere in the depths of the store. There were four long, narrow rows that receded for several yards into the back of the shop, each marked with a sign that, from right to left, read: **SOLID CORE, LIQUID CORE, AMPLIFIER, CASING.**

"Hello!" said a cheerful voice to Harry's immediate right. He jumped and whirled around to see a short, plump witch with pure white hair with a candyfloss-like look to it sitting behind a counter.

"Err, hello," he replied. He felt Sirius step up next to him. The dog Animagus waved and smiled jovially at the witch.

"Good afternoon," he said. "We're here to buy my nephew here his first wand." The witch peered down at Harry through thick, Coke-bottle glasses.

"Looks a bit young for his first wand," she replied.

Harry glanced at Sirius, who instantly made a 'shh'ing motion with his finger and gave a pointed, yet subtle jerk of his head at Harry. The young Potter saw the flick of his godfather's wand and heard a mild buzzing sound in his ears and realized it was a spell that was blocking his hearing.

It lifted a few moments later, and the woman nodded at Harry kindly, then suddenly disappeared behind the counter, only to reappear again coming from around it, the top of her cotton-candy hair bun just barely reaching Harry's chin.

"Right this way, dear," she said. "My name is Madame Ministra, and I'll be helping you create your own wand."

"Um, okay," said Harry sheepishly. "Er, what do I have to do?"

"Oh, nothing difficult," Madame Ministra said, laughing at the seriousness of his face. "Just follow me, dear, and I'll explain everything."

She led them towards the first aisle, which was where the Solid Cores sign was posted above, speaking as her own wand sent a tape measure, quill and parchment to work, measuring and recording various (and sometimes inexplicable) lengths on his body.

"Now, I believe you are from the United Kingdom, yes?" she asked shrewdly, snatching the parchment out of the air and going over the recordings. When Harry nodded, she continued. "Well, where you are from, the magicians buy pre-crafted wands from the maker, but here in America, we do things quite a bit differently."

Madame Ministra waved her hand theatrically down the aisle, where there were dozens of small barrels, each with a sign above it. Within the barrels were powders of various colors, some of which seemed to fluctuate from time to time.

"In the United States, the magician feels out the four different components of the wand, and I, the Assistant as we say, combines them for you. The first step," she said, indicating the barrels of powder, "is the solid core."

"So, uh, _how_ exactly am I supposed to 'feel out' the solid thing?" Harry asked. The woman looked at him, surprised for a moment.

Then she turned an incredulous eye upon Sirius, who shrugged with an easy grin, replying, "He was raised by his mother in the Common World." The witch nodded in understanding.

"You simply place your hand, palm down, over each barrel. You'll know which one's right for you when you feel it," she instructed kindly.

Harry, feeling rather foolish, raised his hand and slid it over so it was about five inches above the first barrel. He didn't know what to expect, but nothing seemed to happen. So he voiced his concern.

"Oh, of course," said Madame Ministra. "It's never really as simple as finding a reaction on the first try. Just move down the line until you feel something."

Shrugging, Harry did as he was told. He felt nothing for the second, third, fifth, fifteenth, or twenty-third, but on the twenty-fourth, he felt a strange, surreal wind sweep across his body, thrilling his hair about, and he gasped aloud.

The good Madame clapped. "I think we've found our solid core!" she said happily, scurrying forward to see what he'd reacted to, and placed a hand over her mouth when she did.

"_My_ goodness," she muttered. "You must have a lot of power in your little body, because you've just reacted to nothing less than the crushed flight bones of a griffon!" She retrieved an empty crystal vial from a pocket in her robes and filled it with the silvery dust.

Harry blushed at the comment, and said, "So what's after solid cores?"

"Well, the liquid cores are on the next aisle. Follow me." She walked up to the single, long rack, tapped her wand, and a portion of it flipped sideways, offering a nice, large passage to the next lane. Madame Ministra stopped Harry when he started for the front of the aisle, near the shop's entrance. "I think it would save some time if we started from the back, because I have all the components arranged in order based on their magical potency. The front of the store is the weakest, and the back of the store is the strongest, and young man, we are very near the back of the store at the moment."

So Harry went to the rearmost part of the store, and began his 'feeling out' of the liquid cores, which were large buckets full of strange, often bubbling, sometimes steaming, liquids. He only checked five before he got a strong, warm feeling that surged through his body, making him sweat. "I've got something over here!" He looked at the stuff inside and saw that it was a coppery color that shimmered and steamed and smelled faintly of smoke.

Madame Ministra checked the sign above and after again taking a vial of the stuff, announced, "Your liquid core is the blood of a Chinese God Dragon, also called the Good Luck Golden Dragon. Again, you choose a very strong ingredient. Next up are the soul stones."

In the next aisle were barrels filled to the brim with small pieces of what appeared to be jewels, and some actually were; he recognized many names from the jewels Aunt Petunia used to beg Vernon for, like amethysts and emeralds and agate and topaz. But there were some that he didn't, such as ectocrystals and dragonstone.

He again started in the back, and it took him only three tries to get his rush, this time of a wave of cold gushing over him. The Assistant took the small stone, holding it up to catch the light of her wand so it sparkled brilliantly, revealing strange designs of white stone in the otherwise azure gem.

"This, boy, is the heart of a leviathan, a monster of the deeps. Leviathans are notoriously difficult to find, let alone kill, but the prize is this extremely potent amplifier, but only to those who resonate with it, which you obviously do.

"And now," she said, moving the shelving so they could move to the final aisle, which was much larger than the others, "for the casing. I absolutely love the casings, because there are so _many _different ones!"

It was true. There were large shelves that were stocked with dozens of wands, staves, and other, odder models, differing in materials from woods to metals to bones. And there was a stripe down the center of both sides of the aisle with small blocks of the different materials used.

"Try the strips on the center line, dear," she said. Harry nodded and went to the back. He raised his hand and immediately felt a tumble of pure, radiant _life_ thrill through his slender frame, and he was filled with green, happy sunshine for just a moment.

"_This,_" he half-whispered, half gasped. Madame Ministra didn't even have to look at the sign, since it was the first he checked, and therefore, the last and most powerful material this store had to offer.

"The _shinboku_ tree," she said, and even Sirius murmured an astonished curse. "Young man, the _shinboku_ is the most magical tree in the world, short of the _Ydrrasil_ in Norway. Ancient Japanese called it the god wood, and that is what we call it today. You must have a seriously enormous magical core to have reacted so strongly with these four materials. Now, you need to choose your casing. All the casings made of _shinboku_ are right there at the end."

Harry picked up the wand and swished it and flicked it like Sirius did, and it just didn't seem to feel right. So he replaced the wand and went for the staff, which was just a long stick. He whirled it around but it got loose and struck Sirius in the head.

After having a good laugh at his godfather's expense, he started looking at the different makes and models, never really finding the right thing. Then, he saw something that caught his eye. "What's that?"

"Oh, that's my newest model," Madame Ministra said excitedly, picking up the delicate, white piece, the shape just barely hinted upon. "It took me months to get it right. I actually had to go to Common New York to buy a real one and see how it worked to make the perfect masterpiece."

"I love it," Harry said. "May I?" The Assistant gently handed Harry a wooden handgun. The grip felt perfect, and when he put pressure on the trigger, it actually moved, and the hammer pulled back! "It actually works!"

"Yes, and now it's yours, young man," Madame Ministra answered. She walked back down the aisle to her counter, upon which she tapped her wand three times. It instantly transformed into a woodworking desk with several tools Harry didn't know the names of.

"Now, first, I need to place the solid core..." she waved her wand and the silver powder soared out of its vial and into the vial of dragon blood, "...into the liquid core. Then..." Madame Ministra pulled the wandgun towards her and tapped the side of it with her own wand. The wood melted back to reveal a large, empty hollow. It was into this she poured the concoction of Good Luck Golden Dragon blood and Griffon wingbones, then with another wave of the wand, the wood melded back into place, "...you need to seal the combined cores into the casing. And lastly..." she grabbed the small blue gem, revealed a square compartment in the handle of the gun, and dropped it in. The square compartment started melting over the Leviathan's heartstone and became whole again.

"So it's done?" Harry asked, reaching for it. Madame Ministra slapped his wrists with her own wand.

"Not yet," she said smartly. "I have to cast the combining spell so they all fuse together to form one perfect wand. Without the combining spell, your wandgun would look like a block of wood shaped like an 'L.' After I'm done, it'll be fine-tuned based on the ingredients."

She raised her wand high and jabbed it down onto the wandgun and barked a single, harsh word that flowed with power. There was a bright flash, and Harry blinked several times before the spots disappeared, leaving in their place his finished wand.

It had turned from the purest white to jet black, the wood grain still visible. The grip on the handle, however, was a bright, translucent green. The gun had taken shape and, though it was still completely wooden, it was carved with the minutest detail, from the sight and the trigger to the barrel and the hammer to look like one of those long-barreled revolvers Dudley had enjoyed so when he went through his cowboy phase.

"Nice," Sirius commented as Harry rushed forward to collect his new wand. "I think it'll be great for point-n-shoot spells. But..." his tone grew concerned, "...what about the spells with complicated wand movements like in Transfiguration and Conjuration?"

"No need to worry," Madame Ministra said airily. "I added a special feature that allows the gun to compensate for the wand movements just by the magician encanting or subvocalizing the incantation."

"What!" exclaimed Sirius. "How in the name of Merlin's sagging nuts did you manage that?" It looked like Sirius was going to have a stroke or something.

"Trade secret," said the old witch, smirking. "But I'll give you a hint." She pressed the tip of her wand onto the top of Harry's new one. The surface suddenly glowed with miniscule runes that had to have been carved by the tiniest of chisels. They glowed bright blue against the black and green of the gun.

"Of course," Sirius muttered, almost to himself. "The wand movements are just drawing the neccessary runes in the air and using them for intricate spells. Carving the runes onto the wand allow for more rigid structures of the wands." He turned to the old lady and bowed at the waist. "Ma'am, you have my deepest respect. You're a bloody genius!"

"Thank you," she said, nodding. "That'll be twenty galleons. For you two, I'll throw in a free enchanted dragonhide holster."

Sirius counted out the gold coins while Harry clipped the holster, which was dark gray in color, onto his belt and set his wandgun in it. The gun fit like the holster was made for it, which, now that Harry thought for a moment, it probably was.

As they walked out of the shop, Sirius grinned at Harry. "So now that you've got your wand, how about we start getting some books so we can start your training!"

"First, I'd like to go in here," he said, pointing at the robe store that he'd taken an interest in earlier. "I think I want to get some clothes from Hot Topic. And then maybe visit a music shop so I can get a guitar."

"A guitar?" Sirius repeated, surprised. "Have you ever played one?"

Harry shook his head. "But I heard a man playing one in the subway, and I decided that if I got enough money, I'd want to get one."

Sirius shrugged, then nodded. "Sure, kid. You know, your mother used to play for us at Hogwarts when we were kids. She was downright wicked with it, too."

**A/N: And so, as with all things, chapter the second comes to an end. So, originally, I wanted to do a sick-ass time skip to when Harry's fourteen and returning to England because Dumbledore found him, but I realized that it would take too long to explain all the stuff that happens during that time. In fact, the part about Atlantis and Harry getting his wand wasn't going to be in this fanfic, but I decided to put it in anyway. I don't know what I'm gonna do now, but I'll figure it out. Peace. FMW**


	3. The Informal Training of Harry Potter

**A/N: You guys don't disappoint for shit! Thanks for the reviews and stuff, last night there was a raging party at my house and I got drunk, faded, and all kinds of twisted, but in the best kind of way. Woke up, and the homies were already getting stoned in my living room, so I joined the session and now I'm so happy, I'll post another chapter. Anyways, back to the story. Okay, I came up with the idea of a montage chapter, where we see what Harry and Sirius get up to in six years. It'll skip around a lot, but I've always enjoyed that kind of writing, so I'll see if I can pull it off. Oh, and props to one of the best HP fanfic authors of all time, jbern, whose Animagus transformation ritual I'm ripping off, as well as the great Sioux Animagus (or Animage, depending on who you ask) Lone Thundercloud. Anyone who hasn't read any of his work hasn't read fanfiction. Trust me. Here's the review replies.**

**Unknown reviewer: Hell yeah he got drunk as fuck, and he wasn't walking by himself. He got mad wasted like I did last night. They won't go to Mexico, 'cause that country is too dope for even awesome Harry to go to. I won't disappoint…or ellssssseeee!**

**Riotstarter1214: You don't know the freakin' half of it. The Triwizard Tournament ain't gonna know what hit it when Harry gets suckered into that motherfucker. Oh, and sorry, but I've seen Dumbles and Weasley bashing so much in so many random fanfics that to me, it's just too played out. I'm not gonna have too much. Ron might get a bit bruised, but that's just because he's such a loveably douchebagish son of a bitch. Molly might get bashed too, but that's because she has the unfortunate luck of having the same name as my own mom. Ginny's cool, but not Harry's gf status. The twins are of course gonna be awesome in this fic. Arthur's always a class act dude. Percy's a freakin' douchebag, but having been raised in the Burrow, I can't honestly blame him. Bill and Charlie are cool dudes, so they're not gonna be bashed. Aunt Muriel is just too freakin' crass to be bashed; if anything, she'll come out of the pages and beat the shit outta me if I bash her.**

**HP-DG-SB- Your name is long, but I can't fault you. I actually thought that SB stood for Sirius Black, but Susan Bones is a much better option. I love the fringe pairings as well. Anyway, to understand the bashing of the Weasleys, look upward to the last review. And I don't give a fuck about the length of a review. If anything, the longer it is, the better. I will definitely check out your story, **_**and**_** review as well. I look forward to your next review.**

**vizard- a gunwand is very not practical, but it **_**is **_**dope as fuck. Which is why I wrote it in. Harry will use a wand, if only to hide the fact that he has a wandgun, but that'll only be at Hogwarts**

**lego-king- This chappie and the next will breeze through his life, and then after that, he'll be at Hoggy Warty Hogwarts again. So don't trip.**

**The end of the review replies.**

**Disclaimer: DOS**

Chapter 3: The (Informal) Training of Harry James Potter

11 January, 2000

Death Valley, California, United States of America

"Sweet Merlin, Padfoot," complained Harry, wiping the sweat from his brow. "It's a million degrees here! What in the world are we even doing here?"

Harry was sitting in the sidecar that Sirius had added to his magical motorcycle, roaring down a highway square in the middle of nowhere. He was tuning an acoustic guitar with an ebony body and dark green fret bars. It had a Sound-Projecting charm on it, and Unbreakable strings, and was one of Harry's most cherished possessions.

Luckily, they didn't have to worry about the noise of the engines, or bugs getting into their eyes, thanks to the multiple enchantments placed on the chopper. They'd had to set down because, as Sirius had said, "We're almost there."

That was an hour and a half ago.

"We're gonna get you a sword!" Sirius cackled happily. "Every duelist worth his saltneeds to be not only well-grounded in the many magicks of this world, but must also be trained in the much more subtle arts of the physical arts."

"Why?" Harry had grown considerably in the three years he'd spent with his godfather physically, and magically, he was already more powerful than a fifth-year at Hogwarts, and he was still only ten, going on eleven. From wandlessly and wordlessly Summoning things like cash to wandlessly and wordlessly casting a powerful-enough Concussion Hex to smash through a thee-foot-thick piece of Conjured ice like a sledgehammer to porcelain. He could take a block of petrified wood, transform it into a brilliant peacock, take the fowl and change it into a large puma, and then into the tree it used to be before the ages had petrified it.

Sirius lifted a hand to scratch his now-shaven chin and thought for a moment. "Well, I guess you could say that it's an ancient tradition. Back before medieval times, wizards and witches were celebrated as wise men and mystics who were always turned to for guidance and, in times of war, protection.

"And since the dawn of civilization, no other weapon has captured the hearts and minds of man as much as the sword. They can be as slim as a blade of grass or as thick as my entire body, sleek and elegant as well as deadly and precise. The first ever magical blade created is most commonly placed in Mesopotamia, by the legendary King Gilgamesh. Ever since then, wizards and witches have been refining the art of creating the blades. The most famous of all magical blades is one that even Commons know about, the mythical Excalibur, wielded by none other than King Arthur himself.

"And that," he finished, turning to grin at his godson, who was putting the guitar back in its case before shrinking it, "is where my good old friend Scotty comes in. He has his sort-of permanent residence here, in sunny Death Valley, California!"

"Must be a bloody loon to be living in a place called Death Valley," Harry retorted, twirling his wandgun around his index finger, then tossing it up and catching it on his pinky, then doing it again, transferring it to the middle finger of his opposite hand.

"Hey, hey! Scotty's gonna get you a shiny sword to go with your nice gun there," Sirius said. "And I think a blade is just what you need to complete your whole 'new-age punk rock' look you got goin' there."

"_You're_ just jealous that I look cooler than you do," Harry replied, smirking. He had several sets of robes, all of them jet-black, except for the stitching, which varied for each one, which also came with matching fingerless gloves and cargo pants. Today, he was wearing his apple-green-stitching ensemble with a pure white shirt that said 'Bite me, I'm a Parselmouth!' in black letters. His bright green eyes and rimless glasses were slightly shrouded by his hair, which was by now down to the bridge of his nose and almost to the nape of his neck.

"Oh, please!" Sirius said as they drove past a sign that proclaimed Death Valley to be a mile away. "Like you could ever compete with _the_ Sirius Black in the coolness department." He gave a fake laugh as though amused by his godson's accusation. "But anyway, we're here, and now you can continue the true Potter legacy by becoming yet another great swordsman in a long line of great swordsmen. Your great-great-grandfather Christopher Ulrich-Potter, who was a Squib, eventually became known as the greatest swordsman in Common Europe after defeating the previous champion in three minutes flat."

"Fine," Harry said. "But when can you teach me to become an Animagus?"

Sirius sighed. They'd had this conversation before, several dozen times in the past few years, and every time, Sirius said what he said now. "Not yet. You can't become an Animagus until your natural body has hit puberty, and, to be honest, I think it'll be another year, Harry."

"That blows," he answered glumly. He looked past the sidecar and saw that he was in what appeared to be a giant mobile home park, with several permanent buildings mixed in among the trailers and RVs and things. Sirius drove his motorbike past the hundreds and hundreds of semi-permanent residences and kept going, toward the center of the crater known as Death Valley.

After ten more minutes of blistering heat and cottonmouth, the dull roar of Sirius' bike ground to a halt, and Sirius pulled off his helmet. Harry followed suit and stepped out of the sidecar, stretching. They were outside a motor home with a dusty, faded paintjob and no wheels. There was a tarpaulin attached to the side of the home and propped up so it made a sort of patio, where three folding chairs crowded around a plastic table.

"So this is where Scotty lives?" Harry asked, jerking a thumb at the beat-up mobile home with a raised eyebrow. "The magical sword-maker lives in a bloody motor-house?"

Sirius tapped his nose confidentially and winked. "Haven't you ever heard that old saying: 'Never judge a book by its cover?' Nothing is ever _really_ what it looks like when there's magic involved, Harry."

"Whatever," was Harry's reply. Sirius went up to the door and knocked on it heavily, then stepped back. That turned out to be a wise decision because a moment later, the door burst outward with huge force, slamming into the side of the mobile home so hard it would've made a dent, if there hadn't already been one there. In the doorway was an enormous man with flaming red hair flecked with gray and a matching beard, weilding a large walking stick.

"I don' want any visitors!" he bellowed fiercely. Then he opened his eyes and squinted through his comparatively tiny glasses. "Well, bless me beard, if i' isn't Padfoot!" He stepped out of the mobile home and gave Sirius a one-armed bear hug. "How've ya been, laddie?"

"Just brilliant," Sirius replied sarcastically. "I've only been falsely imprisoned for seven years and spent the whole lot of it with a flock of dementors. Great crowd to be around for an extended period of time. But it's great to see you again, Scotty," he added brightly with a sudden change in demeanor.

"Yeah, I heard about tha' mess you go' yourself into," Scotty said, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Didn' really ever believe that gian' load o' dragon shite they came up with. You, of all people, betrayin' James and Lily Potter to tha' sheep-shaggin' wanker, Voldemort." He gave a short bark of laughter.

Then he motioned for them to come inside. Sirius had been right. Nothing ever looks the way it seems with magic. The interior of the mobile home was somewhat of a mansion, complete with a second story and an indoor pool with at least a dozen rooms that Harry could see, and probably more to boot.

"Nice place," Harry commented absently.

"Thanks," replied Scotty as he led them into a sitting room and motioned for them to sit down. "So, Sirius, what brings ye to me humble home?" 

Sirius grinned and said, "I need you to make a sword for Harry here."

"Harry?" Scotty turned and really looked at Harry for the first time. "Well, if it ain't Harry Potter? Why, you look just like yer father. But yeh've got Lily's eyes! Well, I can prob'ly whip somthin' up. Stand up there, laddie."

Harry got up, and Scotty eyeballed him. The big Scot lifted Harry's left arm and measured it, then did the same to the right arm. "Let me see yer wand, boy."

Hooking his middle finger into the trigger ring, Harry twirled it out of the holster on his hip and it came to a rest in his open palm. Scotty picked it up with a wondrous look, turning from side to side.

"Where'd ye get this beaut?" Scotty asked.

"MNY," Sirius replied. "Made by an old lady named Madame Ministra or something. She drew pretty much every single rune ever discovered on the wand so there's no need to perform wand movements."

"That's righ' brilliant, tha' is," Scotty remarked, feeling it out. "These are some very powerful materials tha' went into this puppy. _Shinboku_, Leviathan heartstone, Griffon flight bones, Chinese God Dragon blood."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment after handing Harry back his wandgun, then turned to Harry and said, "Did you know that the Japanese wizards used to use _shinboku_ to make the handles for their katana?" 

"No, I didn't," Harry said.

"Well, I was thinkin' since your wand case is made o' _shinboku_, and a wizard's blade should always have the components of their wand, I could make you a katana with a Godwood hilt. The slim build of the blade would go well with your frame, and it's an elegant spellcasting sword."

"Wait, you can cast spells with a sword?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Of course," Sirius said. "But there are only about forty or so spells you can use with a sword, just like with staves. But that only makes it that much cooler."

"Well, make yerselves at home," Scotty said. "Bathroom's down the hall. I've gotta start on yer sword so yeh can start trainin' with it."

"Do you have a dueling ring in this dinky little trailer?" Sirius asked as they left.

"Five doors past the bathroom," Scotty replied. "You'll love it. The thing's perfect for heap-dueling which, if memory serves, is your favorite." Sirius looked like a kid who was just given a puppy for Christmas.

"Ready, kid?" Sirius called from five yards away.

Harry frowned and shouted back, "I'm _not_ a kid!" They were standing on either side of the dueling ring, which was basically two ten-foot-diameter circles connected by a fifteen-foot-long platform.

"Draw, varmint!" Sirius called, reaching for his wand in its holster. He managed to snap off a quick Blinding Hex at Harry before he had to blanket-shield to avoid the barrage his young opponent had returned and had to grin; the kid was getting much better.

After stealing away the initiative, Harry launched into one of his favorite spell-salvos to try and beat his godfather into submission. It was a Reductor curse, followed by dual-Bludgeoners, a trio of Conjured ropes, and a rather gray spell affectionately known as the Hangman.

Sirius dodged the Reductor, slapped a specialized shield on his non-wand arm and smacked one of the Bludgeoners away while whirling away from the other, and burned away two of the ropes with a Fire-conjuring spell. That one remaining rope was all Harry needed.

His Hangman curse hit the rope, which dodged Sirius' next few attempts at bringing it down and coiled around his legs while simultaneously jerking up. Sirius barely managed to hang onto his wand while being hoisted up into the air by his feet and cast a simple Diffindo on the rope to free himself.

Sirius barely managed to pull up a powerful Mage Shield to block Harry's next salvo, which colored his normally-clear shield jet-black.

"Hey, Sirius, Paint it Black!" he heard Harry shout with a grin in his voice, naming Sirius' favorite Rolling Stones song. Sirius discovered the motivation behind Harry's Aura Painter charm when he dropped the overpowered bastion and saw a trio of Engorged wolves sprinting down the connecting platform with a grizzly bear lumbering after them.

Despite the deadly menagerie running toward him, Sirius was impressed. The kid wasn't even eleven yet and he could already do some things he couldn't do at the halfway mark in his education. Of course, that didn't mean that he would take it _too_ easy on the little bugger.

With a whip-like motion of his wrist, Sirius conjured a Firewhip that made the big doggies wary of him, allowing the grizzly to catch up. _Perfect,_ Sirius thought to himself as he wove a wooden web with his wand in complicated movements.

With a final downward flick, Sirius completed the spell and pushed his power into it. The spell he'd just used was the Vacuum Curse, which, when simplified to the fullest, created a black hole from which there was no return. It was a devilish power-drainer, but the effect was not only a serious crowd-pleaser, but it was an all-purpose spell. It could be used to swallow up a massive, unblockable spell, devour a construct, be used offensively, or, in Sirius' current predicament, take out a horde of Conjured animals.

Sirius' excellent control allowed his black hole to rip open right between the four enormous Conjurations. The center wolf was first to go, followed by its brethren, and the grizzly was soon sucked up as well. But Sirius got his reward when the vacuum receded, leaving a stunned-looking Harry staring blankly at where his army of Conjurations had been.

After catching his breath quickly, Sirius decided it was time to end this little charade. Digging into his bag o' fun little nasties, he sent a dozen minor spells that he was certain Harry had no clue about while also mixing in a few bigger magicks of which Harry was also in the dark about, so he wouldn't be able to tell which to dodge and which he couldn't.

Harry managed to stay out of the way of six of the spells, was then forced to shield two more, and was struck in the leg by a little spell known as Montezuma's Revenge. That one little spell was all that was required to cause a lapse in concentration. He took a Gouging Hex to the shoulder and spouted some blood, a light electric spell that nicked his torso, and Sirius' personal favorite, Snivellus' old spell, the _Levicorpus_.

"You are a royal git, y'know that?" Harry said, hanging upside down and dripping bodily fluids from both his shoulder and his bum. "I've got shit running down my back and it's getting mighty close to my head right now."

Sirius Summoned Harry's dropped wandgun and released the Hoister, allowing Harry to fall like a sack of potatoes. "Better luck next time, kid," Sirius snickered, Banishing the wandgun back at Harry, who caught it out of reflex.

Harry flipped Sirius the bird as he Scourgified himself and his clothes. "Undo the diahrrea, too!" Sirius, laughing his arse off, cast the countercurse and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, just before hitting Sirius with a lightning-quick hair-growth hex known as the Unibrow and laughed while running out of the dueling room and into the house.

Scotty had been in the magical sword-crafting business since he was a wee kid, learning the trade from his own father. He'd been honing his technique for over four decades, and it was a testament to his ability that he was able to produce a fully-enchanted katana for the Potter kid in three days.

"It's always been a major milestone in a young wizard's life when he receives his firs' sword, wee Master Potter," Scotty said, sitting across from the smallish ten-year-old and holding the finished masterpiece in his big, meaty hands. "And so, it is with great pride tha' I presen' this blade to you."

He handed the roughly four-foot-long blade to the boy, who took it gingerly, afraid that he'd muss it all up by dropping the sword. The hilt was _shinboku_ like his wandgun, but it was painted black and laquered smoothly, then wrapped in green silk in the manner peculiar to the Japanese swords. The pommel was nothing more than a black metal cap that hid the Leviathan heartstone, and recessed within the handle was the wingbone/dragon blood amalgamation. The sheath was black leather, with a cord of green rope wound around the top, near the crossguard, which resembled a lightning bolt made of the same metal as the pommel.

Harry couldn't contain his excitement any longer, and he pulled the blade from its scabbard and gasped. The blade was completely blacked-out steel, and apple-green runes were inscribed along its length, except for a long stretch devoid of anything. Harry pointed this out.

"Well, tha's where I'll be puttin' the blade's name, soon as ya give it one," Scotty answered. "Every sword's gotta have a name, elsewise nobody'd remember it."

"What should I name it?" Harry asked with a bit of trepidation. He'd never named a pet, let alone a sword.

"You name it whatever you want, godson of mine," Sirius said. "Before the Ministry took away my sword when they arrested me, it was named Ferocia. In Latin, it means Courage."

"And it also means Arrogance, don' forget tha'," Scotty snorted. "It's more than typical for Western magic-users to name their blades in the Old Tongue," he added to Harry, who nodded and was lost in thought for long moments.

Finally, he looked up, nodded as if making a decision, and said, "I know what my sword's name will be. Et Punitor, the Avenger." As a rule, Sirius had begun teaching Harry several dead languages, since most incantations were in either Latin, Egyptian, Celtic, or some other long-lost tongue.

Sirius nodded his head in a show of understanding. "It makes sense. You're going to be the one who kills Voldemort and avenge your parents' deaths, along with every other life he's destroyed. Good choice, Harry."

Harry looked back at the sword, and as if by magic (duh), the corresponding runes that made up the name of the sword had etched themselves onto the empty steel in gold. "Cor, that's bloody awesome."

"And what's even more awesome," Sirius said with a gleeful smile, "is that now me and Scotty get to beat, er, _train_ you in yet another aspect of magic, young pupil."

Groaning inwardly, Harry knew that there would be even more pain in the forseeable future, but he knew that he wouldn't have it any other way.

16 August, 2002

Lakota Sioux Reservation, South Dakota, United States of America

"So where's the mission this time, Blackie?" Harry asked, once again in the sidecar of Sirius' bike. He was fiddling around with a laptop he'd procured, and was now in the process of trying to enhance it magically with a combination of runes, Arithmancy, and good old-fashioned brain power.

After Sirius had deemed Harry's swordsmanship 'passable' the year before, he'd decided that his godson needed proper field experience in order to prepare him for his future task of destroying Moldybuns. So, in a stroke of brilliance (at least, in the dog-Animage's mind), he got the two bounty-hunter licenses and in the months that followed, they'd become among the best in the States.

"Oh, we're not going on a mission, young apprentice," Sirius laughed. "We're going to see an old teacher of mine. He's a Lakota Sioux by the name Lone Thundercloud, and he's going to be helping you with something."

"What?" Harry asked suspiciously. "This better not be another one of those surprise trainers you're so fond of springing on me."

"Now, Harry, you're my godson, and I want to do everything in my power to equip you with what you need in your eventual fight with the Dark Wanker," Sirius explained. "I taught you wand magic, swordsmanship, and the many facets of womanizing," here, Sirius grinned his stupid dog-grin. "Sarutobi was able to drill into your brain the subtle arts of the shinobi of Japan." Harry shuddered at that.

Their next stop after Scotty had been Little Tokyo in San Francisco, where Harry had met an acquaintance of Padfoot's named Sarutobi Niwa. The man had put the boy through a rigorous physical regimen that lasted half a year before he'd deemed Harry ready for the magical aspects of the shinobi path. There were many incredible techniques that would allow Harry much greater movement on a battlefield like the Body Flicker, which was a short-range (and much more comfortable, in Harry's opinion) version of Apparition, similar to the Flash Step maneuver Scotty had taught him, but this could only be achieved while weilding his blade, Punitor. Also on the on the training sheet were powerful elemental magicks and mental arts.

"We also had the undeniable luck of getting the one and only Nicolas Flamel to teach you the power of runes and battle alchemy," Sirius continued, and Harry couldn't argue with him there. Lord Flamel had taken to Harry immediately, having met and taught his own mother.

Harry had immensely enjoyed this stage in his training. Not only had Flamel grounded him in the scientific magic of alchemy, or changing one form of matter into another, but he'd also had Harry undergo runic rituals that had greatly increased Harry's physical and magical abilities, including one that actually gave Harry a certain amount of precognition.

"So what great magical knowledge is this Thundercloud guy gonna impart on me?" Harry asked, still tinkering with the laptop. "Native American magic?"

"He's going to show you how to work with the elemental magic that permeates the Earth itself, called Wicca." Sirius explained. "He taught me everything I know in that particular branch of magic. _And,_" he added, a knowing grin on his face, "Thundercloud will be helping you in the ritual of animal release."

"Which means?"

"Which means that hopefully by the end of the month, you'll be an Animagus," Sirius finished, watching his young charge's face. Not one to disappoint, Harry's expression went from a concentrated frown to a brilliant, hopeful smile that lit up his face.

"Are you shitting me?" Harry asked breathlessly. The young Lord Potter had been bugging his godfather to teach him the Animagus ritual since he'd learned about it, and now he was about to undertake the process himself. Then he frowned. "Wait, by the end of the month? You said it took two years for you and my dad and _Pettigrew_," he spat the name out like it was toxic sludge, "to turn into your inner animals."

"The Sioux, along with many of the native tribes in the American continents, go about becoming Animagi in a completely different way than us Europeans. Sarutobi taught you the Art of Transformation, but that's only temporary, and it doesn't give you the senses and power of the animal, like the Animagus transformation. Thundercloud can give you a much better explanation than I can, so I'll let him do it. Just be patient and keep on messing around with your computer. How's it coming, anyway?"

Harry grinned and started to explain the various runes that he was working into the computer. They'd had to procure various conductive metals and a few precious gems, but Harry was convinced that he could make Common electronic contraptions work even in magically saturated areas like Hogwarts.

"But how is that possible?" asked Sirius, who had a running knowledge with runes, though not as much as his godson, who'd worked under the best of the best. "The ambient magic works against the electrical components, doesn't it?"

"Yes, not to mention that there aren't any electrical outlets in the castle," Harry said. "But what this scheme here does, the _urzh-fewor-amun_ array, is leech the ambient magic away from the atmosphere within five inches of the device while actively charging the scheme on the battery, which loops in with the one on the diamond that I installed near the motherboard. Those two keep it electrically charged while enhancing the computer's capabilities and keeping away any viruses. I want to find a ley line to test it out, but I'm pretty sure it'll work." He looked up to find Sirius shaking his head, a nostalgic smile on his lips. "What?" Harry asked.

"You truly are you parents' kid, y'know that? I remember in our seventh year at Hogwarts, Lily created a project for both Ancient Runes and Astronomy. It was a working model of the solar system and all the various little asteroids and comets, using nothing but ambient magic to power it. You remind me so much of both of them, I sometimes think I'm having conversations with ghosts."

Harry grinned, a flush of pride adorning his now-tanned skin. In the past two years, he'd grown drastically, taking to the physical and magical training like fish to water. Now standing at five feet three inches, weighing a hundred and ten pounds sopping wet, Harry was just the right size for a thirteen-year-old Potter. His emerald eyes had seen much more than most his age, even shrouded as they were by his unruly black hair, which now had streaks of his favorite color running through the jet strands.

His black robes had violet stitching today, and he'd added a few piercings to complement his new style. After his short-term apprenticeship to Nicolas Flamel, he'd also added several transmutation circles-the basis of all alchemical works-to his skin on various parts of his limbs. The katana sheathed and lying across his lap only added to the goth image he'd been accumulating since he met Sirius. Goth clothes and magic, he'd deduced, went very well together.

They eventually found themselves in a small town that was completely surrounded by the raw, beautiful wilderness of the Midwestern Badlands. To the west were sky-piercing mountains capped with majestic crowns of snow, while stretching south and east were empty plains of tall grass that rippled like the ocean in the heavy winds. On the distant horizon, Harry saw an advancing wall of thunderheads that formed foreboding cathedrals of dark clouds, promising lightning, thunder, and a sea of rain.

"It's amazing here," Harry murmured. They sped through the few streets and eventually stopped at a two-story mansion, where a single figure sat on the porch.

Sirius turned off the bike as Harry shut his laptop and hopped out of the sidecar. He slid his sword and scabbard into the corresponding loop on his belt, securing it with a quick knot, before slinging his guitar case over his shoulder and holstering his wand.

He knew he could have shrunk the guitar case, as he'd done with the trunk in his pocket, but he liked the effect it had on his look. Without it, he was just some random goth with bad hair. With it, however, he was a punk rocker. It just showed him the importance of music.

Sirius made his way up to the porch, where the figure stood to welcome them. The man was easily six feet tall, with a mane of snow-white hair tied into a ponytail by a strip of leather. His weathered face was a deep russet color, and his dark eyes showed ages of knowledge and experience.

"Mr. Black, it's been too long," said the man, whom Harry assumed was Lone Thundercloud. The man turned those piercing eyes on him and continued, "And this must be Harry Potter."

"That he is, Thundercloud," Sirius answered, shaking the Native American's hand. "It's good to see you."

"And you as well," replied Thundercloud. Then he faced Harry and held out a hand, which the young man took. "My given name is Lone Thundercloud, but you can call me Thundercloud for short. It is indeed an honor to meet the last scion of the Great and Noble House of Potter, as well as the famous Boy-Who-Lived."

"Likewise," Harry said with a grin. "I'd love to discuss the American Animagus process with you before we undertake the ritual. I make it a point to learn as much as I can about something before I do it."

Thundercloud smiled, and Harry immediately knew that he would enjoy working with this man. "That is very good. It's so refreshing to find one so young with so much maturity. My granddaughter could do with a good influence like you."

Harry fought to hide the smirk that immediately bubbled to the surface. He highly doubted that he'd be a good influence on any female, what with Sirius' rather _unique_ lesson plan that dealt not only with magical and physical might, but also the true importance of knowing the female body and mind better than his own.

"Do you have any other grandchildren Harry's age?" Sirius asked suddenly. "I've been training him since he was eight, and he hasn't really had the chance to mingle with kids his own age. I'm a bit concerned about how this might affect his development."

"I have too many grandchildren," Thundercloud laughed as he motioned them inside. The house was spacious and airy, something that Harry liked. When he beat the Dark Wanker into submission and beyond, he hoped to have a house similar to this one.

"Clan!" the aging wizard called. "We have visitors!" There was a rumble of several pairs of feet as people moved about upstairs. Three adults and seven children of varying ages tromped down the stairs to see the newcomers.

Thundercloud gestured to the only man, saying, "This is my son, Swift Wind, and his wife, Yellow Creek." He turned to the other adult woman there and presents her as his daughter, . Then there's a role-call of the grandkids, almost all of whom belong to the son and daughter-in-law, while only one, Starless Sky, is Gentle Breeze's daughter.

"Sirius Orion Black and Harry James Potter, at your services," Harry says, giving a sweeping bow, his gear clanking around on his back and hip.

Yellow Creek gave a startled sort of yelp at the mention of their names, and Swift Wind pulled her and his kids behind him, aiming his wand at Sirius. Immediately, Harry wandlessly disarmed the man, catching the thin piece of wood in midair. 

"Now, what kind of manners are those?" Harry asked, frowning. "I suppose, thanks to British propaganda and tall tales, you think that this man here is a mass murderer and traitor to his best friend, my father. That might have been the case, if Blackie here had enough brainpower to pull it off. The sad truth, however, is that he can barely string two words together to form coherent sentences."

"Watch it, you," Sirius growled good-naturedly. A few of the children burst into a fit of nervous giggles.

"Father, why would you bring this man into our house?" Swift Wind said, eyes narrowed and never leaving Sirius. "You've put us all in danger by doing so." 

"Relax, my son," Thundercloud said. "I have the utmost confidence that Mr. Black is innocent of the charges placed against him. And it wouldn't do well to harm the man. Even if you somehow managed to best the second-place duelist in the world, you'd have to answer to Potter the Younger."

"That runt?" Harry immediately disliked the man, and he drew his wand slowly. Without taking his eyes off Swift Wind, he pointed the gun at an end-table and transfigured it into a male Siberian tiger, set a compulsion on it, and watched the mayhem.

The tiger leapt forward, pinned Swift Wind to the floor and began raking its itchy tongue across his face.

"I could've just as easily had Tigger eat your head, sir," Harry said quietly. "Here's your wand back." He banished the wand directly into Swift Wind's hand while simultaneously dispelling the transfigurative magic.

After navigating his way out from under the end table, Swift Wind clambered to his feet. Harry noticed that Starless Sky was trying very hard not to burst out in laughter at her uncle's misfortune. He caught her eye and grinned, which she returned with a wink.

Despite his training with Sirius, his new teenage hormones worked against him, and a spectacular blush crept onto his face. _Damn this puberty! _he thought for the umpteenth time. _I wish the Aging Potions were permanent so I could just skip past it._

"So, Harry, why don't we step into my private study and discuss the Animage Ritual," Thundercloud said, trying to ease the tension in the room. "I know you have much you want to ask about it.

Harry'd had a very strange week. After discussing the ritual of release with Thundercloud, a conversation that had lasted over three hours, Thundercloud made Harry a potion that would put him in the correct state of mind for the ritual. This, of course, meant that Harry had to be higher than a space shuttle in orbit around Mars.

Sirius later informed him of his misdeeds while under the influence of the Peyote Releasing potion, quite to the shock, and a couple of times pride, of young Harry. If the old dog was to actually believed, the young boy wasn't a virgin anymore, thanks to Starless Sky, or Lauren, as she liked to be called.

Now, he was right in the middle of the ritual. He'd been ushered into a sweat lodge, where a foul-tasting potion had been passed around. Harry drank down much of it, since Thundercloud had him fast and go without water for two days to further prepare him for the release.

He was in the lodge with several other men, two of whom were also undergoing the ritual. The remaining men were elders of the reservation, and they were chanting in an ancient language that far surpassed Latin in the age contest. The air was practically vibrating with the magic as the chanting mages continued their spell.

Suddenly, Harry realized that his voice was being added to the elders, but he had absolutely no idea of what he was saying. A dumb, lopsided grin crossed his face, and his last thoughts were, _Here goes nothing!_

**A/N: And that's pretty much it. It's a longer chapter than the first few, but don't expect it to last. I don't really like doing that. But anyways, things are starting to get interesting. I didn't feel the need to add the parts where Harry learns alchemy and ninja arts because, well, I just didn't feel like it. Suffice it to say, the alchemy will work similarly to the way it works in the Fullmetal Alchemist manga, and several ninja arts will be lifted from the Naruto manga. What can I say, I'm a fanfiction author. Lifting other people's ideas and making them my own is pretty much what I do. Peace.**


	4. The Wizard, the Worg, and the Metadrake

**A/N: New chappie's up, folks! This one'll be a doozy. It will contain Harry's Animagus transformation and him finding his familiar, which'll be a pretty cool-ass invention of mine. Hey, don't look at me like that, I have my moments of brilliant creativity once in a while. Here's the reviewer replies.**

**NarutoXYugitoFTW- Haven't you heard? Cliches make the world go 'round, buddy. My Harry ain't a teacher for shit. He's just a badass motherfucking warlock with the destructive spells on deck. There's gonna be a battle against diary-Voldemort in a few chapters, and I hope it's pretty good. Anyway, thanks for the review.**

**HP-DG-SB- Low-key, I'm starting to look forward to your reviews right now. I wasn't sure anyone would get that high-time thing, but you came through and got that shit. That Harry-losing-his-virginity-to-Lauren thing was a shout-out to jbern's **_**Bungle in the Jungle.**_** If you haven't read it, you haven't read fanfiction. In regards to your question about explicit material, I'm sorry if I disappoint when I say that this won't contain any lemons, limes, or any citrus fruit. It's not that I don't look down on that kind of thing. It's just that I suck at writing lemons. I might have a pretty good grasp on regular prose, but when it comes to sex, it's too hard for me to put that incredible feeling into written words, y'know? Gracias for catching my mistake. I'm only human, you understand, and I've made enough mistakes to fill an encyclopedia set, from A to Z and back again. Here's the next 'brilliant chapter' you so kindly referred to. I hope I don't disappoint.**

**Naginator- Thanks for the support, pal. Check out the next one.**

**Palurien- The reason I changed the dates is a simple one: I don't have the reference from the 1980's so I just changed it to a time that I know. I'm a '91 baby, so I know the nineties best, and that's where I'm going.**

**I hate the Japanese: I gave Harry a katana 'cause it's just so…well…**_**Harry**_**. It's not a super-impressive person physically, but he puts in work where it's needed. That's just the impression I got, anyway, and since I've already started down that road, I don't see any reason not to keep going.**

**Anyway, on with the fic!**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own shit.**

Chapter 4: The Worg, the Wizard, and the Metadrake

24 August, 2002

Lakota Sioux Reservation, South Dakota, United States of America

_Why did I do this?_ Harry asked himself. He was immensely uncomfortable, as he should be. He was experiencing what the locals called the Descent. The Boy-Who-Lived was having his consciousness stripped from control of his body bit by bit. His humanity was giving way to animality, and his primal instincts became first and foremost.

He felt hunger as he'd never felt it before, like a mad beast was clawing away at him from within his stomach. He needed water so badly his mouth felt like it was on fire. A bowl of the clear, life-sustaining liquid was offered to him. Harry crawled over to it and began quaffing water like his life depended on it.

"Look at that, Thundercloud!" one of the men muttered. "Your white kid's going fast!" Harry couldn't make heads or tails of the noises he was making with his mouth. One of the other ritualees tried moving toward your water bowl in an attempt to quench his own thirst.

A feral growl erupted from between his lips, and he pushed the wizard away. The poor man whimpered and backed away quickly.

"Ooh, that's gonna hurt later," chuckled another man. "Look, his nails are growing. Muzzle's coming through, too. What do you think? Canine, feline, ursine? Maybe we should collar him." He felt a thick scaly collar clamp shut loosely around his throat, and millions of tiny pinpricks itched at his skin. Muscles he never knew he had started bulging and hardening into adamant cords rippling underneath his flesh. "Get the gauntlets, too. This one's gonna be big."

"Move him outside, doesn't look like he's gonna stop growing anytime soon." Harry felt a tug at the collar, which didn't seem so loose anymore. "Definitely canine, look at his snout. Great Spirit, he's going to outgrow the collar, get it off him!"

The tightening noose of the collar was suddenly gone, and he felt the changes stop. The smell of meat was close; raw, delicious meat, layered with the iron tang of blood.

Harry's consciousness was holding on by a miniscule thread, and he heard Thundercloud's voice cut through the fog in his mind. "Species _lupus maximus_, or as we call them, worgs. He's a worg."

"Are you sure?" a voice asked. "Worgs are magical creatures, Thundercloud. Magical creature Animagi are only myth."

"Obviously not," Thundercloud said, and the last coherent thought Harry had was that he was no longer Harry. He was the Worg.

The Worg raced through the wild lands of the reservation. The hearing was incredible, he could pinpoint a tiny rodent five miles to his immediate right. His eyesight even better, and even in the darkness of the moonless night, he could make out the tiniest wood louse crawling through the tree directly ahead of him three miles away, at the beginning of the forest.

But it was his sense of smell that was his greatest asset. Within the forest, he could make out a small creek about three hundred yards past the tree line, where a herd of deer were slaking their gullets. The enticing aroma drew the Worg like a lodestone to a magnet.

Racing forward on almost silent paws, he flitted through the trees faster than any non-magical beast could ever move. He heard the thudding hearts of the herd immediately after racing into the forest, and his eyes picked them out easily a moment later.

Green irises that wrapped around the entire eye of the Worg focused around the wide pupil onto the largest deer present, a stag nearly twenty hands high, and with a rack any hunter would drool over. _Mine,_ the Worg thought.

So concentrated was the Worg on the hunt that he failed to notice the cougar who was hunting the same herd, and had targeted the same buck.

The Worg surged forward, leaping over the stream easily and landing on the stag's body. The great horned beast's back buckled under the sheer weight of the Worg, and the iron teeth clamped down on the stag's neck, instantly snuffing out the fire of its life.

Before he could take one morsel of his kill, however, he heard a coughing growl, and turned to face a fully-grown mountain lion, raking the air between them in anger and defiance, lips pulled taut to reveal gleaming fangs.

The Worg was surprised at how small the obviously full-grown cat was compared to him. Why, the foolish creature, standing only to his chest, believed that it could best the Worg. How pitifully hilarious.

The puma struck like a rattlesnake, but the preternatural reflexes of the Worg kicked in, and he dodged to the side, raking his own claws across the cougar's ribs and was satisfied by a horrendous ripping sound, followed by two sharp cracks.

Feline and Canine circled each other, blood dripping from the cougar's left side. It screamed in rage and pounced again, and the Worg met it's charge head on. The larger creature easily overpowered the cougar, and the enormous jaws settled around the cougar's neck.

Before he could snap the mountain lion's spinal chord, however, he felt a strange sensation pulse through the cat's body, and then it was gone. Leaping back in bewilderment, the Worg made out the shape of a rattlesnake rearing up from where he'd been moments ago, the snake's tail shivering in anticipation of the strike.

Get away from my hunting grounds, worg, came a voice in the Worg's head, and the single remaining thread of human consciousness perked up curiously. He swung his head around, searching for the source of the voice, but found no human in sight.

The human part of the Worg's brain struggled to gain a foothold in the ruling consciousness, and suddenly, Harry was able to think while simultaneously feeling what the Worg was feeling and sensing.

Tentatively, Harry thought, Where are you? The rattlesnake wove around in the air, shaking its tail even harder, making the rattling sound louder.

It is I, the great and mighty metadrake! the voice said again, and the snake's body shuddered and changed into a massive grizzly bear. Fear me!

Listen, pal, Harry sent back. I don't need this right now. I've barely managed to transform into my Animagus form and I was just about to eat. Give me a fucking break, okay? The grizzly roared angrily and charged forward. Guess that's a no, then.

The bear swiped at him with one of its huge paws, but the Worg dodged to the left, ramming his shoulder into the bear's already bleeding ribs. It seemed that the transformation of the metadrake was similar to the Animagus transformation in the fact that neither had a healing factor.

The Worg loosed a yelp when another paw swung down and struck him at the base of his skull like a sledgehammer. The two of them backed off and began circling, each now wary of their opponent. They rushed forward again, the grizzly taking a straightforward charge, while the Worg made a zigzagging pattern. They crashed into each other with an earsplitting crack, and the Worg felt a searing pain in his chest. Harry deduced from the pain that he'd probably broken a clavicle, and maybe even cracked his sternum.

But pain didn't dissuade the animal in him, and the Worg leapt upward onto the bear's back and sank his teeth into the back of the grizzly's neck, but even so, the Worg's teeth weren't long enough to punch through the thick fur and even thicker skin of the bear, and only succeeded in bringing it to the ground.

The Worg still saw shallow breathing, and knew the grizzly was only unconscious. Suddenly, a shiver went down its body and became a miniscule, slightly serpentine dragon. It had a horn between its nostrils, and spikes running down its back to the sharp, curved blade at the end of its tail. Two sharp, blade-like protrusions jutted out from its elbows, and it was forest green in color.

Harry's consciousness shone through suddenly, and he realized what an amazing familiar this creature would make. He picked it up gently with his teeth by the tip of its wing and swung it around to the thick mane of fur that ringed his neck. The various spikes and claws made sure that the small dragon was tangled up into it.

Then, the Worg glanced at the stag and licked his lips, an all-too human gesture. Before he made it to the dead animal, however, he felt an annoying sting in his hindquarters.

Looking up, the Worg saw a group of humans flying on puny sticks. The _homo sapiens_ looked and smelled so delicious, but they were pointing even smaller pieces of wood at him, which was causing the irritating sting.

He howled his protestation at them, and they rose higher. He heard them make noises, but couldn't understand them.

"Worgs...magical resistance...switch...Blasting Curses..." The stinging stops, and he decided to go back to his kill. That is, until fiery concussions began erupting all around him. The lights, sounds, and pressure on his eardrums forced him away from the dead stag, and the Worg saw the carcass of the deer floating into the air.

The humans were trying to steal his meat. That was _his _meat, not theirs. He screamed in utter fury and his back legs fired once again, sending him sailing into the air while making sure that the little metadrake was still knotted up in his fur. They weren't getting his food without a fight, the bastards!

"Full-Body Bind, on three!" A sudden, enormous flash of light struck the Worg directly in the chest mid-leap, and he froze. Powerful muscles were rendered useless, and he fell back to the floor.

Voices started swirling around him, and he tried to make sense of them. A particularly familiar sound reached his perceptive ears and he concentrated on that.

"C'mon, Harry, come on back," it was saying. Images popped into the Worg's head, of a man with dark hair and a handsome face, of a jet-black dog almost as large as he was himself. "Do you know who I am? Focus on my voice."

The Worg set all of his rudimentary intelligence to the task of doing as the voice said, and slowly, he began to make more sense of the noises.

"Good, he's coming back. How many fingers am I holding up? Blink once for each finger." Emerald orbs focused on the small but dexterous digits and blinked four times. Wait, did the thumb count? He blinked again. "Oh, shit, messed up with the thumb again. That's my bad, everyone."

The familiar voice came back. "Listen to me. Try to remember your name. How old are you? What was the first spell you ever cast? Come on, Harry, come back to us."

Spells? The Worg blinked as memories flooded his mind, of a strange, black and green wooden gun, of countless hours laughing and struggling and training. Flashes of light, puffs of smoke, transmutative discharge.

No, he wasn't the Worg. He was Harry bloody Potter, and he was a Worg Animage!

He stood up, wondering when he'd made the switch from worg to human, and felt something slide off his back. Amazing reflexes allowed him to catch the small dragon before it hit the ground. It was a little worse for wear, with four jagged cuts along its side and a large bite mark on the back of its neck, but it was still breathing.

"Can you help it?" he asked to Thundercloud, holding the small dragon. "I sorta invaded on its hunting grounds and had to mess it up. I thought it might make a good familiar, so I put it in the fur of my mane."

"You thought?" Thundercloud asked in a bemused voice. "While you were still in your animal form?"

"Uh, yeah, is that bad?"

"By all means, no!" Thundercloud exclaimed, a smile tinging his face. "This makes my job much easier. You were able to think as a human while still in your alternate form. This means that you have already taken your first step toward clarity, which is a balance between your two selves."

He turned back to the small dragon in Harry's hands. "This is a metadrake, I believe." He took the magical creature from Harry and inspected its wounds. "A few lacerations, some puncture wounds, several broken ribs. I think I can help him."

Over the next month, Harry was taught meditation by Thundercloud. The old wizard had told him beforehand that it was used to commune with his inner animal and achieve what the Native American called 'clarity.'

"You must realize, Harry, that you are no longer simply human, nor are you entirely animal. An Animage is an amalgamation of the two, and to attain clarity, you must find middle ground. Simply put, you have a human form and an animal form. The totem you have made will help the animal traits cross over into your human form, and likewise your human mind into your animal form."

Harry remembered making the totem with his magic, some _shinboku_, the remains of his first kill, and his own blood and vomit. It wasn't the most disgusting thing he'd ever done, but it was pretty close.

During that month, Harry and the Worg learned that they were two entities living within the same being, and by working together, they accomplished much more than they did individually. Harry's magical prowess and higher thought-process, combined with the Worg's excellent instincts, supernatural strength and speed, and his incredible senses, came together to create a formidable opponent indeed.

Harry also managed to convince the metadrake to travel with him and become his familiar. It took a lot of arguing and a few demonstrations of his ability, but by the end of the first week of their acquaintance, Harry and the aptly-named Morpheus had become friends and familiars.

"So what's the extent of your powers?" Harry asked Morpheus one day while Harry was supposed to be meditating.

Well, as you know, I can communicate telepathically, said Morpheus. He was rubbing his claws against his scales, using his tough natural armor as a whetstone to sharpen them. And I can change into any animal, magical or nonmagical, that I have absorbed.

"What do you mean by 'absorbed,' exactly?"

I need to come in contact with the creature in question. Then I focus on the shape and capabilities of the animal, and absorb their DNA through my aquiring glands. He turned his paw up and Harry saw five little suction-cup-like growths at the tip of each of his digits, just below the claw.

"I think I chose right when I picked you as a familiar, then," Harry said, grinning.

Well of course you did, Morpheus replied, scoffing. I have the capability of becoming any animal I like, and not to mention I'm a right looker in my own form.

When Harry and Sirius revealed the prophecy to Thundercloud, the old Indian decided to teach Harry to become an Elemage as well.

"What is an Elemage?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"An Elemage is a wizard with the ability to control a various aspect of nature, an element, if you will. All magical humans, and some non-magical humans, are able to become Elemagi. Each individual has a distinct magical fingerprint, you know this already. But a few have one of seventeen power signatures, which is the type of Elemage that they have the capacity to become. It is this fact that the form of magic called Wicca is based upon."

"How would one figure out which power signature they have?" querried Harry. He was intrigued by this form of magic. In response, Thundercloud opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved a piece of transparent paper and handed it to Harry.

The moment he took it in his hands, it lit up with an intense light, and Harry had to shield his eyes. When he looked back at it, the paper had turned a dark gray shot with streaks of pure white, with the words_ Harry James Potter_ written in a sharp cursive script he immediately recognized as his own. Bewildered, he turned to Thundercloud in askance.

"That paper is what is known as a signature page. It's a magically charged piece of hemp paper that perceives magical presence through your skin and takes your fingerprint, if you will. Yours turned gray, so this means that you are an Aeromage. The white streaks, though, are a mystery to me."

"Which means...?"

"Which means that you are destined to be a master of the winds. Luckily, I happen to be an accomplished Aeromage myself, and we won't have to send you to someone else to furthur your education in Elemagery. I will, however, contact one of my friends who happens to be an expert on the subject to see if he knows anything about the white on your signature paper."

The elemental magicks took Harry over six months to gain a mastery over, but by then, he and his animal spirit were much more in tune with one another. At the end of his tutelage under Thundercloud, Harry had become a very powerful Animagus, an accomplished Aeromage, and was no longer a virgin. All in all, this was one of the better stops with Sirius.

Meanwhile, Thundercloud's Elemage-expert had reported that the white in his signature paper revealed nothing less than that he was one of the rare magicians who had a dual power signature, and the color meant that he was an even rarer Illumage, a controller of light. Unfortunately, at the moment there were no other living Illumagi to teach Harry the ways of the Light Mages.

On the last day they were staying with Thundercloud and his family, he woke up with a massive headache, primarily due to the backhanded slap he received just moments before.

"Wake up, Potter!" a harsh voice growled, and Harry was suddenly afraid. He would know that voice anywhere.

Even half-asleep and disoriented, Harry contorted his hands into a distinct hand sign and was gone in a puff of smoke. He reappeared behind his attacker, and was shocked when he found not one, but four people in his room. Morpheus was curled up on the dresser, sleeping through everything.

"Niwa-san! Scotty! Teacher!" Harry exclaimed as they turned around, revealing Sarutobi Niwa, Scotty the swordcrafter, and Nicolas Flamel all smiling back at him. Sirius was standing there with them. "What are you all doing here?"

"Well," Sirius said, "after Thundercloud said that you were finished with your animal and element magic studies, I decided that you needed a pop quiz. I've brought all of your instructors together, and we're all going to fight you to see how well you can combine your training and be the best that you can be."

"So, let me get this straight," Harry said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I, a thirteen-year-old, am supposed to fight against a master swordsman, an elite shinobi, the greatest alchemist to ever live, and a seriously experienced Animagus and Aeromage. That about right?"

"Not to mention the number two duelist in the world," Sirius said, grinning. Harry groaned. "Hey, don't give me that. You have a more potent magical core than any one of us, and you _are_ destined to kill the most evil wizard of our time. It's about time we started training more seriously."

So Harry was instructed to suit up for a battle and head outside. He was wearing a full set of Chinese God armor, complete with gauntlets and sabatons, along with his wandgun and Punitor. Sirius, Scotty, and Thundercloud had their own swords and wands at the ready with dragonhide armor as well. Nicolas stood wearing the same extravagant robes he'd had on the first time Harry had met him, and Sarutobi was attired in the traditional ninja gear, including the split-toe _tabi _and concealing hood and mask.

"Now remember, Harry," Nicolas said in his surprisingly strong voice. "We will not be pulling punches. All five of your teachers will be attacking you with the intention of killing you, so you must respond likewise." 

"Aye," Scotty agreed. "This'll be a slobberknocker t' say the least, Harry."

"You ready?" Sirius asked, and Harry smirked, unsheathing Punitor and readying his wandgun with practiced ease.

"Just see if you old geezers can keep up," Harry answered.

Without preamble, Sarutobi engaged Harry by hurling some throwing stars at him. Harry Banished them and charged forward while keeping an eye on the other four. Thundercloud instantly transformed into a bald eagle, taking to the skies and circling around. Sirius and Scotty rushed in behind Sarutobi, while Nicolas began carving an intricate transmutation circle into the earth with his wand.

Conjuring up a whirlwind to dissuade Thundercloud, Harry lashed out with a flurry of blows that forced Scotty to go on the defensive with his massive Wallace sword. Sirius took the opportunity to try a sneak attack from behind and shot a Bone Breaker. Luckily, Harry's limited precognitive powers alerted him to the curse, and he leapt aside.

"Watch where yer aimin,' dog!" Scotty yelped, dodging the curse as well. Harry swung Punitor in Thundercloud's general direction and cast one of the sword-exclusive spells, the Wind Scar. The blade, infused with Harry's magic, cut the very atmosphere, creating a razor-sharp vacuum that disturbed the air around it.

The Scar sailed upward, creating miniature tornadoes as it went. Thundercloud winged away and managed to dodge the spell, but was caught up in one of the eddies and flung to the ground, where he immediately changed back to human and began casting heavy-hitters, including lethal Cutters and wide-area Bludgeoners, forcing Harry to dodge and shield.

During all this, Nicolas completed the transmutation circle and was standing in the middle of it. Harry glanced over at him just in time to see the centuries-old alchemist drive his walking stick into the center of the circle, activating it.

The ground beneath Harry molded around his legs as it rose, slowly transforming into a fist as it enveloped his body. When it was completely formed, Harry was up to his neck in a beautifully-crafted clawed fist with an attention to detail that Michelangelo would envy, and if Flamel's stories were to be believed, the maestro actually _learned_ the craft from Nicolas.

Sarutobi, Thundercloud, Sirius, and Scotty all surged forward, and Nicolas drew a wand from within his cane.

Five separate spells blasted from wands and blades, all aimed at Harry, who was completely helpless. Or so they thought.

Harry delved within himself and found the Worg's slumbering magic. He roused the creature, and it pulsed outward, black hair becoming coarse fur, fingernails becoming claws, teeth becoming fangs. The alchemical prison cracked and split beneath the Worg's enormous strength, and suddenly, Harry was free.

He jumped directly upward, and the magical blasts smashed together, creating an explosive conflagration, as well as an effective smokescreen.

After humanizing, Harry started conjuring and transfiguring like crazy. It expended a massive amount of magic, but being Voldemort's equal, he had enough of that to spare.

Sirius stared at the cloud of smoke, then turned to Thundercloud. "Think we overdid it a bit?" he asked, jerking his thumb at the blast.

"Not enough, I think," Thundercloud replied. Sirius looked back and saw a veritable army of conjured animals, chains, claws, and other assorted nastiness. And leading the phalanx was an enormous, jet-black worg with eyes the color of emeralds.

"The boy's core has grown much since the last time I fought him," Sarutobi remarked as he unshrunk a sickle from a pouch at his belt. "_Ninpou: Kamaitachi!_" With a swing of the sickle, a scything blast of wind ripped across the battlefield, cutting down two grizzly bears and a transfigured claw.

Harry wove through the spells and ninjutsu, leapt over the swordspells and the alchemic spikes that jutted suddenly from the earth until he was within striking range, thinking the whole time. He needed to take out the heavy hitters first, which meant that Flamel and Thundercloud needed to be put out of commision for the time being.

Coming up with a plan on the fly, Harry raced past the other four adults and straight for Nicolas, allowing his army of conjurations to run rampant and create a diversion.

Harry transformed running, Punitor and his wand already in hand, and rushed toward the infinitely older man. Knowing how cunning the man was, he steeled himself for any traps imaginable. Casting Levitation and Propulsion charms on his boots, he flew over any ground-based surprises Flamel had cooked up.

Nicolas smiled, saying, "So you remember last time, do you? Well, I've come up with several new things since then. For example," he tapped his cane in the transmutation circle, and a runic mine burst upward from the ground, right in Harry's path. Punitor took it out, and the Propulsion shot him forward before the shockwave could do any harm.

"No dice, Teacher. How about this?" Thundercloud had taught Harry well in the arts of the Aeromage, and he used this to his full advantage. Elemagery requires no focus, like magic needs a wand, or ninjutsu needs hand signs. Only the determination and power to bend the elements to your will.

A horizontal whirlwind shot from Harry's outstretched hand, and Flamel had to raise a solid wall of rock to weather the blast. While he was otherwise occupied, Harry redrew a few symbols on the transmutation circle and broke the outer line, then leapt back, waiting.

"You hesitated, Harry," Nicolas said. "That was your mistake." He tapped the cane again, and alchemical discharge burst from the circle. Flamel's eyes swept the circle and alighted on the redrawn runes and the incomplete circle. "Ahhh...I see," he said, before the circle exploded. Harry tossed a rope spell at the old wizard's body, trussing up his hands first, then the rest of his form. An alchemist is only as good as his hands allow him to be.

"Keep your eyes on all your targets, disciple!" he heard Sarutobi yell. Harry sighed. He'd hoped that the conjurations would've kept them at bay longer. Harry dodged and blocked a series of punches and kicks, while getting nearly leveled by a few in the process, and managed to land a palm strike to Sarutobi's chest, pushing him back enough to level his wand and land the Incarceration spellchain: a Knockback jinx, followed by the Stunning charm, and finishing with a Rope Binding charm. Niwa was roped up and finished off before he even knew what had happened.

"My thoughts exactly," Harry told Sarutobi's unconscious form. Then his precognition alerted him to danger, and he dodged to the side, just barely avoiding a low, sweeping Cutter. "Bad form, Sirius!"

"What'd you expect from an ex-con?" replied his godfather, sending Bone Shattering curses and conjured chains at him.

"Y'know, I'm not that little eleven-year-old you hit with the diarrhea jinx," Harry said, using an offensive shield charm exclusive to sword-magic to cut through the Bone Shatterer and sent a gust of wind to blow the chains back at Sirius. "And I still haven't gotten you back for that, either."

The two wizards traded spellfire for a while before Thundercloud and Scotty joined in after finishing off the last of Harry's conjurations. Then Harry was put on the defensive, raising solid shields and parrying curses and hexes while struggling to hold the shields and bringing up more when the old ones crumbled and buckled.

"Just give up, Harry!" he heard Scotty shout. "We won' hold it against yeh, y'know!" Harry growled, gritting his teeth as he dug deep. His magical reserves were running on empty, but he pulled out the required power and shouted the incantation, just to let them know what they were now up against.

"_Golem Mobilis!_"

The earthen shields merged together with more of the ground and took on a roughly humanoid shape with massive, sledgehammer arms and thick, sturdy legs. When the golem was fully formed, Harry sent another couple bursts of transfigurative magic and the hard, rocky skin became smooth and shiny as a large, blunt form began taking shape in its three-fingered hand. After all of Harry's magicks were done, a twenty-foot-tall, titanium golem towered over the remaining three men, a massive steel club held firmly in its grasp.

"Sick 'em, boy!" Harry shouted, and the golem lumbered forward, clinking and clanking as it went. Sirius and Thundercloud hurled Blasting curses at the thing, but the reflective surface of the metal absorbed or reflected most of it, and left the golem relatively unharmed.

While they were busy with his conjured construct, Harry started weaving the most complex spell he knew. Even with the various runes carved into his wandgun, there were still wand movements involved, along with a massive power drain that went with this particular spell.

Sirius wiped his brow, which was growing slick with perspiration. Harry must have combined the steel golem with a reflective shield somehow, because he was dodging his own Blasting and Explosion curses more often than the golem was taking damage. Thundercloud was likewise beginning to tire. Scotty must've been as well, since he was taking the golem head on with his massive claymore, and no matter how strong or big that man was, the golem was more powerful by miles.

"Let's combine our attacks," Sirius told the other two men. "Thundercloud, Explosion curses at the hip, and Scotty, use the Steel-Piercing Fang at the same place. We'll see just how strong Harry's golem really is."

Thundercloud and Sirius charged up their spell as Scotty moved backward, the claymore glowing with pent-up energy. They unleashed their attacks simultaneously, but the _Tetsusaiga_, the Steel-Piercing Fang, reached the golem first, cutting deep into its metallic skin. The combined Exploding Curses slammed into the deep rent created by the swordmagic and cracked the golem open. Its torso hung onto the legs by a thin piece of metal the size and width of a door-hinge, and Scotty severed that easily with the claymore.

"Good work, mates," Sirius said with a grin. That grin was still on his face when the infamous _Vox Verbero_ smacked him upside the head, followed quickly by Thundercloud and Scotty. Harry stood panting as he dispelled the Power Whip, a concentrated stream of energy held in the form of a whip with more offensive potential than nearly any other spell in existence.

Feeling wiped out, but completely energized at the same time, he straigtened from his dueling stance and cast five Reviving charms and a couple weak Severing charms to free Flamel and Sarutobi.

"So, did I pass?" Harry asked when they were all coherent enough to stand up. Flamel and Thundercloud looked infinitely pleased, Scotty and Sarutobi were contemplative, and Sirius was pouting. Thundercloud was the first to speak.

"If you continue growing in magical and physical prowess at the same rate you are, your Dark Lord will have to be prepared to lose, young man." Harry blushed at the praise as his other teachers continued complimenting him, even Sarutobi, who was notoriously hard to get praise from. Sirius remained pouting.

Finally, Harry had to ask. "What's got your knickers in a twist, Padfoot?"

Sirius glared at him, but there was mirth in his eyes as he said, "Now that you've beaten me, I can't hold bragging rights over you anymore, pup." He cocked his head to the side, like the idiot dog he was and said, "Y'know, I can't be calling you pup anymore, either. We need to get you a Marauder nickname."

He furrowed his brow and thought about it for a while. Then, he raised his finger with a grin and said in a pompously rich accent, "From this day hence, Harry James Potter, thou shalt be known as Jetpelt, whether you like it or not."

Harry grinned, ignoring Sarutobi, who was now pointing out what he could have done better during the fight. After besting all of his former teachers, he now felt that he actually had a fighting chance against that sheep-shagging wanker, Voldemort.

**A/N: Okay, so that's the end of that chapter. I was looking through an old Dungeons & Dragons monster book I had gathering dust and was looking through it when I saw the perfect Animagus form for Harry, especially considering the canine nature of Sirius' form and Lupin's 'furry little problem.' I'll go more into detail with Morpheus's powers and the Elemagery. Trust, it won't just be Harry with that kind of power. Well, I've got to run, my court date's set for today, and if I don't want to be thrown in jail, I should probably get going. Later days, assuming I make it through the trail without saying or doing something stupid.**


	5. Go to Hogwarts  Do not Pass Go

**A/N: Welcome back to the Adventures of Harry J. Potter. I've brought with me chapter the fifth in this excitingly riddiculous saga, in which Harry returns to merry old England with about seven years of knowledge and skill. We'll see how Harry shakes shit up. And I'm extremely sorry in advance for what I'm about to do to one of everyone's favorite characters. If you want to attack me with a hot iron pitchfork, I won't hold it against you. Here's the reviewer replies.**

**sirius009- Like I said before, clichés make the world go around. I'm so flattered that you think of my writing as only sub-par instead of absolutely dreadful, that just warms the cockles of my heart to no end. And I already know that I skewed the timeline from early nineties to the early years of the new millennium because I'd rather have a time frame that I know better, and the nineties are when I was just a wee tyke just learning how to use a bong. Peace.**

**lego-king- Lol, thanks for such an incredible honor. I'm drunk at five a.m. in Cali reading your review, and I've gotta say, that's dope as fuck. Reading fanfiction drunk is the best thing to do. Harry eventually ends up in Hogwarts this chapter, but it'll be an action-packed chap. Thanks, and I'll keep writin' as long as you keep reviewin'.**

**oz- From your writing and your signed name, I can surmise that you're an Aussie. Maybe. And I'm nineteen, although I have a ten-year-old's mentality, so you're not too far off base. MTV never really did much for me, but there are some pretty okay shows on there. Anyway, I don't know what you mean about reviewing my own story, so I can't comment there.**

**Jrf Steel- Thanks for the support, buddy. I don't know if you missed it, but the Dursleys are hanging out in the company of a flock of dementors. Hope that that's good enough karma for you.**

**HP-DG-SB- Again, thank you kindly for the review. They're always dope as fuck. I'm trying to set shit up for some epic scenes later on, and I hope I'm able to deliver. The Worg Animagus thing **_**is **_**a stroke of brilliance, if I do say so myself, but I've seen Harry being given a rhino form. Don't know what fanfiction it was, but it was pretty damn cool. Morpheus is an awesome creation of mine that I think is pretty cool. Thanks again, and I look forward to what you think about this one. And sorry in advance for what I'm gonna do to Sirius. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Don't Own Shit, people. Try and sink that concept into your heads.**

Chapter 5: Go to Hogwarts. Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect 200 Galleons

17 September, 2003

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, somewhere in Northern Scotland, United Kingdom

Everyone had known that Albus Dumbledore was old. In the last eight years, however, the old wizard had gotten ancient. It was visible how the wrinkles and liver spots had begun marring his face and skin, but the most noticeable change was his eyes. The once-trademark twinkle that entered his electric blue orbs now lay dormant within.

Albus sat at his desk, alone but for his faithful phoenix, Fawkes. The firebird's current state seemed to mock Dumbledore's own: plumage brilliant and slightly gleaming with his proud, wickedly hooked beak and glaring eyes turned in concern for his master. Dumbledore'd made so many mistakes in the past two decades of his life, he'd lost count twelve years ago.

Seven years he'd been doing all he could to find the young Harry Potter, whom he'd so foolishly entrusted to those loathsome Muggle relatives of his. Incidentally, Petunia and Vernon were now incarcerated in the lowest-security area of Azkaban, where the more common criminals were kept. Still, he'd visited them a few months ago, and without any magic, they could do little more than shiver in fear as the dementors (invisible to them) passed by every hour or so. As for their son, Dudley had been sent to a Muggle boot camp in his parents' absence. If the military couldn't put that boy straight, then nobody could.

For several years after Harry's disappearance, Albus had been in an almost perpetual state of nervousness, waiting for the moment Voldemort reared his ugly head. With no child of prophecy to carry it out, there was nobody stopping Tom from taking over completely.

But after a while, when nothing seemed to happen, Albus began to slowly relax. Riddle must be biding his time, figuring out how to return from his state of quasi-life. Dumbledore had a fairly good idea of why Voldemort hadn't crossed over completely, but it was the only thing that he had to go on.

So he threw his entire being into discovering Voldemort's secrets, his weaknesses and strengths. The Dark wizard set too much store in that prophecy, when in reality, the child mentioned by Sibyll could very well be Neville Longbottom. And so it was that when not seeking any and all strips of knowledge pertaining to Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr., he was helping the young Longbottom heir become the best wizard he could be.

Neville, while not having much innate talent for Transfiguration or defensive spells, outshone all others in the fields of Herbology and Charms work, especially after they found a better wand to match his particular style. The young Gryffindor was truly living up to his parents' names, and Dumbledore's hope was steadily growing once more.

He was reading an overview of Professor Snape's new lesson plan for his NEWT students, which was rather droll and left no room for the students' development as potioneers when someone tripped the alert wards he'd placed just behind the gargoyle that guarded his staircase.

With a quick flick of his wand, his desk was straightened up, and he relaxed in his chair. Moments later, Remus John Lupin, a former member of the Order of the Phoenix and dear friend of Harry Potter's deceased parents, burst into his office, a wildly ecstatic expression on his face.

"Hello, Remus," Dumbledore said politely as he steepled his fingers. "To what do I owe this pleasant, if unexpected, surprise?" Just as he finished speaking, a young man with James Potter's hair, Lily Evans' eyes, and a slightly rangy look about him stepped in after Remus, looking forlorn.

He wore a beige traveler's cloak with multiple pockets over a dragon-hide armor set and on his belt hung a strange-looking wand not unlike the Muggle guns he'd seen. Also on the belt were two blades, one on his back, the other on his hip, the hilt of the later looking oddly familiar to him.

"We've found him, Albus," the werewolf said, pulling the boy close as he spoke, gesturing to him. "We found Harry!"

For the first time in his life, Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled of their own accord.

16 September, 2003: One Day Earlier

White Sands, New Mexico, United States of America

Harry Potter and Sirius Black sat gathered around a conjured flame, waiting. They were in the dip of a circle of sand dunes of the purest white. The dunes around them sparkled in the firelight, and beyond their circle of flame, the quartz sand was bleached silver by the waning gibbous moon as it danced its celestial waltz across the sky.

"So what're the specs for this one?" Harry asked. In the past year, he'd had a change in wardrobe. After working in the bounty hunter's line of business for as long as he had, the sole remaining Potter had come to realize that black was only good in certain situations. At the moment, he was wearing a sandy-colored trenchcoat, with a pair of white, baggy cargo pants and matching boots.

A hand-width belt was slung across his left shoulder and looped around his right hip. There were elastic loops that held vials of necessary potions like Pepper-Ups and Rejuvies, as well as the 'Boom Juice' that Sirius had taught Harry to make and the more questionable potions, like the Draught of Living Death. A zipper hid a pocket for equipment such as Insta-Ice blocks, little packets of powdered Erumpent horn, a few clumps of gillyweed, and several bezoars, as well as a peculiar, yet versatile broom called the Aerohawk that Sirius had given him for his twlefth birthday and the Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle his godfather had bought for his most recent birthday, both shrunken to the size of toys. At his hip was the trusted dragon-hide holster, and on his back was a matching sheath. Residing in them were his most prized possessions: the _shinboku_ wandgun and Punitor.

Sirius grunted, stoking the fire with his wand as he tossed a manila envelope to his godson. Harry opened it and began reading the files. This was precisely their five hundredth mission as partners, and it was one hell of a mission at that.

"So apparently," Sirius began as Harry started his studying, "some wanker's started to fancy himself as the next American Dark Lord. Necromancy, Dark rituals, the works. Goes by the name of Ectheleon, has a group of followers called the Harbringers of Doom. Their base of operations is somewhere around here."

Harry looked up from the papers when he heard the crunching of paws on the fine sand. His senses had gotten much sharper since the Animagus transformation, so much so that all he used his glasses for were the various enchantments layered into glass and steel and stone.

Moments later, a massive Siberian tiger padded into their campsite with five jackrabbits clamped firmly in its jaws. After depositing its catch, a shiver went down the creature's spine as striped fur became dark green scales and massive paws became miniscule claws.

"What took you so long, Morpheus?" Harry asked when the transformation was complete. The smallish dragon alighted on Harry's shoulder and began realigning its scales in a strange mimic of a bird's preening.

I wish we were in a forest, the metadrake complained. Big game, easy targets. This desert, on the other hand, has only one source of edible meat in these stupid rodents. It took me all that time to get them in my tiger morph.

"Y'know," Sirius reasoned, "you could've turned into that rattlesnake morph and just gone into their burrows to get them." Morpheus stopped his realigning and hissed at the dog Animagus.

If you knew anything about being a metadrake, you would know that it takes time for one of us to grow accustomed to a new form. Seeing as how I acquired the tiger two days ago, and our lives might depend on it, I took it upon myself to figure this animal out. So _excuse_ me for not taking the easy route.

"Whatever," Sirius said, grinning. "I was under the assumption that you just hadn't thought of that particular course of action. My mistake."

After laying out the papers for Morpheus to read, Harry turned to Sirius. "So what's the plan?"

Sirius thought on it for a moment. "Well, the only thing that we know for sure is that at the moment, he has fourteen followers, three of which are powerful enough to be any threat to us. Then, there's the horde of inferi that he's spawned, and the chimaera he's created-"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Harry interrupted. "He's made a chimaera? What are the components?" Chimaera were amalgamations of different animals, fused inseparably by alchemy. It was a taboo art, especially with sentient creatures, and Ectheleon had completed his Dark persona by making one.

"He used a blade dragon, a lion, and a great white shark," Sirius answered heavily. "Some of the most dangerous animals in the world. It's there in the mission specs."

Yes, right here, Morpheus said, pointing with a clawed finger at the paper he was bent over. "Height is fifteen feet at the shoulder, weight is roughly one ton. Fangs, claws, tail blade, elbow blades, fin blades, wing blades, dentricles. This chimaera is just a walking, flying, swimming weapon.

"So what I propose, is this..."

The Dark Lord Ectheleon was very happy. His army of inferi had finally reached the set number of corpses, his chimaera had been perfected into the most efficient fighting machine possible. His followers were becoming very powerful in the Dark arts, and he himself was feeling rather potent himself.

Not only was he ranked as a Great Mage on the Warbler Scale, but he was also devilishly handsome, something acquired through rigorous rituals, many of which involving young, nubile virgins. At first, all Ectheleon had wanted was to look good. Not too much to ask, seeing as how he'd never had consensual sex not involving money. But the more he looked into cosmetic rituals, the more he realized that the ones that permanently fixed his looks required taboo ingredients.

Naturally, during his transformation, Ectheleon turned toward the Dark side, amassing several devout followers in the process. Out of these followers came his right hand, one Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman was astonishingly, remarkably insane, but in the most wonderful of ways. She'd come to him just months before, and yet she was one of his most faithful subordinates.

Looking in a mirror, Ectheleon smirked. Dark, wavy hair framed a perfectly proportioned face with eyes that shone like sapphires and plump lips that hid extremely white teeth. This was the face that would soon be known throughout the world as the visage of the most powerful Dark Lord this century, maybe even this millennium!

He was still staring into the mirror when a concussive blast rang through his underground base of operations. The mirror cracked perfectly, creating a vertical line that passed right between his eyes and down his nose. Growling angrily, Ectheleon stormed off to find out what had ruined his reflection and, by extension, himself.

If the budding Dark Lord had taken Divination, he might've seen the flawless crack in his reflection as a very serious omen. The crack in one's reflection was more often than not an early warning of death or a serious head injury.

He spotted Bellatrix as he stalked through the network of subterranean caverns and tunnels and beckoned for her.

"What's the meaning of this?" he growled as another explosion shook dust from the ceiling. "Who is responsible for this?"

Bellatrix retrieved a scrying glass from her bodice and whispered an incantation. The glass showed two hooded figures blasting away at his minions, cutting through them as easily as a hot butter knife through snow.

As he watched, the taller of the two stumbled, and an inferi swiped off the hood, revealing a dashing man with dark hair and clear, sky blue eyes. He heard a sharp intake of breath next to him, and he turned to Bellatrix.

"What's the matter, Bella?" he asked her.

Her visage twisted into a feral grin as she gazed upon the scrying glass. "Nothing at all, my lord. But I do believe it's about time for a Black family reunion."

"Padfoot, duck!" Without pausing, Sirius dove to the floor just as a Firewhip sliced through the air, cutting straight through five inferi. It was a testament to the trust that had formed between godfather and godson that Sirius hadn't questioned the order at all.

Sirius' plan had been the ever-popular forward charge with just a bit of a twist to it. After finding the underground base with a simple Radar charm, Harry and Sirius had simply walked in, wands a-blazin' and swords flashing. At first, all they had to worry about was a massive crush of dead bodies, but minutes into the fight, hostile spells started whizzing over their heads.

"Get back, Jetpelt, I'll take care of the cadavers," Sirius shouted over the din of the zombies and spellfire. "You worry about covering me."

Sirius saw Harry pull up granite walls to shield them and cast Transparency charms on them so the young man could see what his enemies were doing. He barely had time to feel proud of the little bugger before he started up the Vacuum curse.

The spell erupted from his wand, and the stupid zombies were sucked into the vortex by the dozens. By the time Sirius had recovered from the energy drain, Harry was finishing off the last of the inferi. Picking off some of the spellcasters, he spotted their target storming in from a side-cavern with a buxom witch who would've been beautiful but for the fact that she was his cousin...wait, what?

Harry saw Sirius do a double-take on the woman striding purposefully next to the Dark wizard Ectheleon, and wondered if his godfather had just seen an old fling, possibly an ex-girlfriend.

"Why, if it isn't my dearest little cousin, Sirius!" cried out the witch, slinging a Bone-Shatterer quicker than lightning. "How've you been, _Padfoot_?"

"Woudn't you like to know, Bellatrix?" Sirius growled, bringing up a Mage Shield to counter. Harry's mind whirred like his computer as he comprehended Sirius' words. Bellatrix Lestrange was one of Voldemort's supporters, his cousin, and convicted and sentenced to Azkaban for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

If she was out, that either meant that she'd also found a way to escape and was on the run, or Voldemort had sprung her and was planning something big back in the United Kingdom.

"Harry, you take care of Ectheleon. I've got a score to settle with my cuz," Sirius muttered, beginning a destructive spell salvo. Nodding, Harry focused his attention on the handsome wizard next to Bellatrix. Blackie was a big boy. He could handle himself.

"So, they send a boy to kill me?" Ectheleon snickered. "What are you going to do, bore me to death with the details of your everyday life?"

"No," Harry replied conversationally while digging into the alchemical energy around him. "I'm going to crush your skull before you can cause any harm. I'm known as the Exterminator. They call me when others aren't able to handle the big infestations of bugs like you."

"Please! A mere child can't hope to defeat me, Lord Ectheleon!" The man drew his wand and cast a pain curse known fondly as the Iron Maiden. Harry simply raised his hand, and the bolt of silvery energy halted inches before his outstretched palm. With a wave, the spell vanished, leaving Ectheleon to stare dumbly at the hitherto defenseless child.

"What were you saying just a moment ago?" Harry asked, a smirk playing across his face. "Wanna try again? I'll give you another free shot."

"_Avada Kedavra!_" screeched the Dark Lord. Harry very nearly rolled his eyes. It was always like this. They try a spell, he diverts it with apparent ease thanks to an alchemical trick Flamel had shown him, and they never, _never_ fail to whip out the Big Green Death on him. Greatly challenged minds must think alike.

Covertly using a ninjutsu known as the Rock Doppleganger technique, Harry created a clone out of rock and replaced it with himself while he snuck around to the side. The jet of green smashed into 'Rocky' and he broke apart, becoming rock once more.

"What the-?" Ectheleon started, but had to dodge the flying metal discs that Harry was conjuring for him. After bringing up a physical shield ornamented with a bear's paw, Ectheleon called out, "Release the chimaera!"

Harry cast a quick glance around while continuing his pounding on Ectheleon. Two wizards in dark blue robes raised their wands and dispelled the illusionary wall that masked a colossal steel cage which held the monstrous chimaera.

It had the head and rear legs of a lion, the body and front paws of a blade dragon, and the tail, scales, and teeth of a shark. Uniformly grayish-green scales that were sharper than knives were raised from the furry skin they protected. The tawny mane that wrapped around its neck gave it a fierce look that was only added to by the massive claws on all four legs, the blade on the end of the shark's tail, the ones at the edge of its membranous wings, and the ones jutting out of the joints of its forelegs. In short, the chimaera was something out a demented child's nightmares.

The cage was opened, and the chimaera immediately burst out, roaring in exultation. Thinking quickly, Harry slammed his palms into the ground, calling up his alchemical energy. A thick spike of rock shot out from the ground beneath the chimaera, but it simply took to the air, dodging the attack easily.

After conjuring several lions to keep the creature busy, Harry started forming his golem, this time giving it spikes on every inch of its body before transfiguring stone to steel, and conjuring it a massive halberd instead of a club. The golem was going to need all the help it could get against the chimaera.

Switching his attention back to Ectheleon, he started animating the decimated remains of the inferi army. The budding Dark Lord's wand started erupting with Knockbacks and Blasters to give himself space from the zombies.

But Harry kept up a relentless assault, mixing elemental magic, offensive spells, and Transfiguration to throw the ponce off his game. Harry glanced to the left to see how his golem was doing against the chimaera.

Several wounds were visible on the chimaera's body, most noticably the bleeding stump where its left dragon leg had been. The golem was not without damage, either, but it was doing much better than its opponent.

Ectheleon pulled up a Mage Shield to give himself a brief respite, but Harry was ready for that. The young wizard slammed his palm into the floor and sent a massive Knockback jinx miliseconds later.

A rune-carved spike of rock erupted out of the ground, angling toward Ectheleon. The Mage Shield halted it for a moment before the 'shield-breaker' alchemical attack smashed the magical conjuration like a boulder through single-pane glass.

Ectheleon was so surprised he failed to notice the large greenish jinx as it zipped ever closer. The _Flippendo_ crashed into him, sending him flying back into a wall of the cave. He cracked his head on a protruding rock and his eyes fluttered closed before he even hit the floor.

Grinning, Harry turned to see Sirius in a spot of trouble. He was weathering a sickening onslaught of evil curses originating from the darkly beautiful Bellatrix Lestrange behind a heavy-duty version of the Mage Shield that traded maneuverability for durability.

Sighing and rolling up his sleeves, Harry started toward his godfather when his precognitive senses went haywire, and he leapt back instinctively just as the massive tail blade of the chimaera came crashing down where he'd been not a moment ago.

Punitor was out again, and Harry performed the Flash Step to get close to the chimaera. The blade took on a silvery sheen as magic flowed through it, and then it was brought down onto the base of the abberation's tail. Supernaturally-enhanced steel cut easily through the sinew and bone of the tail, and it flopped off with a horrendous screech of rage and pain from the chimaera.

Harry suddenly realized his mistake, and before he could act, an enormous, clawed paw slammed into his chest, knocking the breath out of him and pinning him to the floor. If he hadn't been wearing the Chinese God armor, he would've just been so much bloody spew on the floor.

As it was, his lungs were in serious need of a fresh breath and he was aching all over. One of the chimaera's claws had ripped into his arm, cutting the biceps and triceps. This effectively hobbled his sword-arm, and Punitor lay useless a few yards away. He'd kept a grip on his wandgun, but his wand-hand was pinned at his side, underneath the massive paw.

He stared up at the chimaera, who was regarding him with cold, almost intelligent eyes. Harry heard a dull, sickeningly wet thud, and those eyes widened suddenly and dramatically, then lost the luster of life as the eyelids drooped. Steaming blood dripped down from the creature's open mouth, burning his skin where it fell.

Turning his head to the side, Harry saw the fallen golem, missing three limbs and most of its torso, holding the stump of the chimaera's severed tail, the blade of which now resided in the miserable creature's neck. Summoning up its remaining strength, the golem hurled itself at its dying foe, tackling it and freeing Harry while digging its spiky hand into the chimaera's chest before the magic left it, and the golem reverted to the rock it had once been, leaving a large, broken abberation behind.

"That'll do, golem," Harry said, patting the motionless rock. "That'll do." Struggling to his feet, he picked up Punitor after holstering his wandgun, and started stalking toward the still-battling cousins.

Bellatrix smirked, casting a spell Harry vaguely remembered as being called the Devil's Pendulum. Sirius sidestepped it, casting a cursed Cutter which caused the skin around the initial laceration begin to decay unless treated immediately.

The Dark witch ate the curse with her left forearm, screeching in what Harry was surprised to admit was pleasure. Sirius grinned triumphantly when he saw his spell hit. He was still wearing that grin when the Devil's Pendulum separated his head from his body.

The Devil's Pendulum was classified as a boomerang spell, named thusly because of the way the magic moved in a U-shaped trajectory. If one such spell missed the first time, it came around for another go. The Pendulum, however, was different from most boomerang spells. The majority of them are rather weak, since most of the magic is centered around creating the swing effect of the spell, but the Pendulum's strength is dependent on the level of malevolence put into it by the caster. In the hands of someone like Bellatrix Lestrange, the Pendulum was tantamount to an Unforgivable.

Before he could even think, Harry's wand was out, and he'd cast a Stasis charm, which enveloped his godfather's head and body in a calm, blue bubble of energy, then turned, furious, to Bellatrix Lestrange.

He launched into a repetitive spell salvo, which cycled his five most destructive spells: Bone Exploder, Poison Cutter, Burning Hurricane, Plague Cutter, Killing Curse. Three of the five were undisputably Dark and the other two were pretty questionable to say the least.

To her credit, Bellatrix was able to dance and shield her way through the first few cycles of the salvo, looking like an undead ballerina as she twirled her way through the Bone curses and Dark Cutters.

So Harry switched around a few spells to throw her off. His Hurricane charm caught her in the hip, spinning her around and setting her dress alight, her wand flung from her hand by the momentum. This allowed the Bone Exploding curse, the Poisoned Cutting hex, and the Plague Cutting curse to hit her left arm, right leg, and torso. The multiple strikes tossed her around, and as she rolled across the floor, the fire was put out.

Effectively crippled, Bellatrix leaned against the rocky wall behind her, panting heavily. Her arm was only a bloody mess, thanks to the Bone curse, and her leg was slowly turning black. The skin that the burnt dress exposed was an angry red and was split and burned in most places. Harry could see where his Poison Cutter bit into her side, and revelled in it.

He raised his wand, the AK on his lips, but Bellatrix raised her one good hand. "Wait."

"Why should I? You killed Sirius. You tortured Frank and Alice into insanity. You've commited countless horrors against humanity just by siding with that witless, half-blood piece of filth you call a master."

"Kill me, if you must," Bellatrix murmured. "I just want to see the face of the man who killed me, that's all."

Harry's hair had covered his scar, and his hood had miraculously stayed over his head during the fight. Bellatrix watched in morbid fascination as the man who'd trounced her so badly removed his hood, revealing messy black hair that hid his eyes. At first, she thought she was seeing a ghost of the fourteen-year-old James Potter.

When he swept the hair from his forehead, Bellatrix gasped audibly. Standing before her, clad in battle armor and holding a strange wand, was none other than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Be-Found.

After Dumbledore's announcement that Harry Potter was missing, and not under the protection of the blood wards surrounding his relatives' house, the Dark Lord had sent his minions to the four corners of the Earth. His only orders were to find Harry and bring the boy to him.

Bellatrix knew that she needed to bring this information to her master. As Harry raised the wandgun, she dug into her bodice, retrieving a small, gold ring. She muttered a single word, and the Portkey pulled her into the limbo. She was in pain, but that was irrelevant. Her Master's orders came first and foremost in her mind.

They were sitting in the lobby of the most prominent magical hospitals on the North American continent.

Morpheus was still quite stunned by what had transpired within the last hour. He'd transformed into his strongest battle morph, a Mountain Firedrake that could burn a ten-foot-cubed piece of solid steel into a shiny puddle in thirty seconds. Then he'd gotten into the subterranean warren of Ectheleon, ready to bring down the pain on any who stood in his way.

And that was about when he saw Sirius' head and Sirius' body in a stasis field while Harry screamed at some woman named Bellatrix Lestrange to come back and fight him. After some quick thinking, Morpheus changed himself into a blink dog and transported them to the Phoenix Tear Healing Center, in several mid-distance jumps across the country in a space of a few minutes.

Now, Morpheus was perched on Harry's shoulder as a beautifully regal snowy owl while Harry sat in complete silence. The metadrake knew that Harry was using every fiber of his being to try and will Sirius back to life. He was already holding onto Padfoot's wand and sword, Ferocia, for when he woke and could use them again.

But the small draconian was aware of the limited capabilities of stasis magic. It was a spell which many, many brilliant magicians had worked in tandem on creating, and was used only when a person's death was sealed. Mainly for battlefield injuries, the stasis would wear off in around an hour unless recast.

Morpheus's superior hearing in the snowy owl form picked up the unsteady footsteps of Healer Thread, the senior Healer in charge of the emergency ward at Phoenix Tear, and he cocked his head to the side.

Moments later, an elderly man with no hair and dark, intelligent eyes pushed through the doors, and by the look on his face, Morpheus could tell that there would be no good news coming from this man. He limped his way to Harry and stood there in silence until the boy acknowledged his presence.

Clasping his hands together in a gesture of respect for the young man, Thread bowed to Harry, who stood up, a hopelessly hopeful expression tingeing his visage.

"Lord Potter," Thread started. "Forgive me. We did all we could for Lord Black, but the stasis had been placed too late. I'm so sorry for your loss." Harry's legs buckled, and he fell back into the chair, mind blank but for one thought.

_He's gone._

Healer Thread was speaking again, so he figured that since the man had at least done _something_, he should listen.

"...Black's solicitor has been reached, along with the United Kingdom's Aurors," Thread was saying. "Would you like for me to arrange his cremation here, Lord Potter?"

"If you could," Harry replied. "Thanks for all your work, Healer Thread."

"I'm sorry there wasn't more I could do for him," the Healer said. "Do you need accommodations for tonight?"

"No, I'll get a room at a hotel. I'll drop by tomorrow, Healer. Goodbye." He gestured for Morpheus, whose body shivered for a moment before metamorphosing into a tawny-furred dog with rather large, hairless ears. Harry grabbed onto the blink dog's tail, and Morpheus blinked them to the front of an expensive hotel in magical Boston.

After checking himself in at the front desk, Harry Apparated up into his room after temporarily being keyed to its wards, leaving Morpheus behind.

Knowing that Harry would want to be left alone for the time being, Morpheus went the slow route by taking the stairs as a flea. Being a flea was much more difficult than many people would expect. First off, fleas had a very poor sense of sight, and it was infinitely troublesome trying to time and execute a perfectly arcing jump when you couldn't see where you were going.

Nonetheless, the flea had been one of Morpheus's first acquisitions, and he'd grown rather good with it. The senses of smell and hearing were top-notch, and after the fifteenth jump or so, he smelt the unmistakable scent of werewolf blood.

Morpheus knew that Sirius used to run with a werewolf named Remus Lupin, and allowed the flea to be drawn to the large vein that ran up the lycanthrope's left forearm. He made sure not to bite down, not only to stay unnoticed, but also because most bloodsuckers weren't able to tolerate cursed blood.

Sure enough, when the werewolf went up, the bond Morpheus shared with Harry as his familiar told him that his master was getting closer. Morpheus shifted into a dragonfly to get a better view of where he was going, and saw that he was in a large, well-lit hall with electric wall sconces shaped like seashells and whatnot. American wizards were much more progressive than their European counterparts in the Common technology department, and put the electricity to work quickly, but much more efficient because of the use of magic. _Trust the bloody Yanks,_ thought Morpheus, who had hatched near Newcastle, England.

He saw the werewolf, who turned out to be a rather lean-looking, middle-aged man with more gray in his mousy hair than he should, and a sparse smattering of stubble stretched across his cheeks and chin. The clothes the lycanthrope wore were simple and threadbare, and he had a small box clutched in his hands.

As he watched, the man went up to a door and knocked softly. "Jus' a mo'," came a voice Morpheus recognized as Harry's. A few seconds later, the door opened, and the jamb framed an extremely inebriated young wizard with a tiny bottle of liquor in both hands.

"You room service?" Harry asked, regarding the werewolf with a bleary eye, then looked at the box. "That better be the Jaegermeister in a shrunken box, or you ain't gettin' a tip."

"Harry?" asked the man with no small amount of hesitation. "Are-are you drunk?"

The young man forced a belch, moved the bottle in his right hand to his left, then put his palm up in front of his eyes. "Not yet," Harry muttered, tossing back the contents of both bottles before throwing them over his shoulder, then added, "but that ought to do it in a bit."

Harry scrutinized the werewolf with a focus that he shouldn't have, judging by the amount of alcohol Morpheus detected, then sighed heavily. "Come in, Mr. Lupin."

"You know me," Remus John Lupin said as he stepped into the hotel room. The minibar on the small bureau only had three miniature bottles left in it, and he couldn't be entirely sure, but he thought he smelled a trace of the Muggle plant James had introduced to them in their fourth year he called 'pot' for some idiotic reason. "How?"

"Padfoot," Harry said, then, without warning, burst into tears. The fourteen-year-old flung himself onto the bed and had himself a good cry. Remus was at a loss for what to do. He'd never really been the best at emotions, and he didn't even know why the boy was crying.

"Black?" Remus muttered, bewildered. That was the last answer he expected to hear, especially since he'd heard that Sirius had last been seen somewhere in the Siberian wastes, not America. "Where is he? We can have you out of here in no time."

Harry didn't even pause in his watery misery, wailing, "He's dead! That stupid bint Lestrange killed him!"

"Why would you care?" Remus shot back. He was angry at the boy, despite his vulnerable state. Here he was, Harry James Potter, crying over the man who sold his parents out to Voldemort. "In effect, he _killed_ your parents!"

"You don't know anything!" Harry shot back. He wiped his tears away angrily as he leapt from the bed. "It was Pettigrew. It was _always _Pettigrew! He's probably still alive somewhere, laughing his ratty little arse off for tricking the entire magical world!"

"Sirius killed Peter, too!"

"No, Wormtail faked his own death and blew up half the bloody street to get away! Sirius was _going _to kill him, though, so you've got it half right. But that was only because he'd _ratted_ out my mother and father! God, you're stupid, considering his Animagus form's a fuckin' rat! Couldn't you make the damn connection?"

"What proof of that do you have?" Remus demanded. He was torn between stunning the boy and believing him. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd done not two, but three of his friends wrong, and that thought hurt him more than he already was.

Harry reached into a pocket and shoved a newspaper clipping dated over a year prior into Remus' hand. It was from the Daily Prophet, about the family Weasley going on a trip to Egypt after winning some drawing at the Ministry of Magic. There was even a picture of the redheaded family, waving and smiling. He personally knew Arthur and Molly, and had taught all but two of their children last year at Hogwarts.

If the clipping did anything at all, it made Remus even more confused. "Er, how exactly does this count as proof that Sirius Black didn't sell out?"

Growling in frustration, Harry pointed at the small, brown rat on the youngest boy, Ron's shoulder, and Remus felt his fingers go numb. He saw the telltale signs of Peter Pettigrew's Animagus form, from how the lowest whisker on his left cheek was longer than all the rest to the large hole on the top of his ear when James and Sirius tried to pierce his ears with nothing more than a poorly-aimed _Percutio_ and an uncut diamond they dug up in the Forest. What caught his attention more than anything, however, was the missing digit on the rat's left paw.

The largest part of Peter the Aurors found after the devastating blast Black had supposedly set off was his _finger._

Oh...My...Lanta...

It was as if the pieces of a sliding puzzle snapped into place all at once. Remus was literally knocked off his feet by the realization, and he landed on the couch, dazed. "But...how?"

"They switched Secret Keepers," Harry mumbled, heading back to the minibar and tossing the werewolf a tequila shot after downing the other two bottles. He picked up the phone without dialing a number and yelled, "Jaegermeister, please!"

"Wait, James and Lily chose Peter over Sirius as their Secret Keeper? They chose him over _me_?" He considered the small container in his hand for a moment before drinking it up.

"Peter convinced them that you were the snitch in the Order of the Phoenix," Harry said, stumbling to the couch to sit next to Lupin. "That's why nobody told you about the switch. I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Moony."

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Remus spoke up, his voice rather tremulous. He never could hold his alcohol as well as his friends. "So...two Marauders down, two to go."

"And pretty damn soon, it'll be down to you," Harry growled. "Lestrange killed Sirius, and Lestrange works for Voldemort. Her sudden reappearance could only mean that Voldemort's not far behind. And since Peter was one of the Dark Tosser's followers, he'll be close by." He turned, eyes blazing, to Remus. "And since I'm destined to off that sheep-shagging maniac, I might as well avenge the Marauders as well. You with me, Moony?"

Remus stared in amazement at the transformation that had occured. One moment, this boy had just been a shit-faced kid, and now Lupin could see James and Lily, and even Sirius shining through in this young man. At that moment, he decided that he was going to stick with Harry Potter through thick and thin, and try to do his friends' memories proud by doing right by the boy.

"To the end, Harry," he replied, nodding and shaking his hand. "Now, maybe if you would actually dial the number to room service, we can get that Jaegermeister and celebrate the life of a great, if sometimes mangy man."

Don't forget utterly lecherous, Morpheus said, shifting to his natural form. Remus started, then relaxed when Morpheus glided over to Harry's shoulder. Good evening, Werewolf. My name is Morpheus. I am Harry's familiar and traveling companion, along with Sirius Black.

"Hello, Morpheus. I'm Remus Lupin. Forgive me for asking, but are you a metadrake, by any chance?" The shapeshifter nodded, and the lycanthrope looked extremely impressed. "Harry, I'm surprised that a metadrake would even consider being anyone's familiar. You must be very strong magically to gain such a strong familiar."

"Padfoot taught me well," Harry said, grinning.

Over the course of several hours, the three traded stories about the dog Animagus they all knew and loved, from the time he was caught cheating on his then-girlfriend Celeste Sinistra with one Marlene McKinnon in a very compromising situation in a broom closet to the very memorable day when Sirius was almost smothered to death by someone who thought that he was the lead singer of the band Hobgoblins at the Los Angeles Zoo.

In the end, Morpheus, who was the only sensible one among them, had to tuck in an extremely inebriated Harry, and throw a blanket over a rather less drunk werewolf, who'd passed out on the couch.

**A/N: Okay, so let the name-calling, stone throwing, shit-hurling, and anything else you've got begin. I know, Sirius didn't deserve to die, but it's a cleverly inserted plot device I needed for the story to come to fruition later on down the line. And since Bellatrix offed everyone's favorite Snuffles in canon, I figured, what the hell, let's let the psycho bitch have her fun. Anyway, next chapter is the big return to Hogwarts, and it only took me five chapters to get Harry there, too. Not bad, considering. Well, till next time, everyone. Adieu, adieu, parting is such sweet sorrow.**


	6. Helter Skelter in an Autumn Swelter

**A/N: I thank you for returning to The Adventures of H.J.P. and I will trust that you're doing very well since last we met. In this chapter, Harry has a pow-wow with Dumbledore, saves a house-elf from a fate worse than death, makes lots of new friends, some new enemies, and somehow manages to make Draco Malfoy crap himself. How this all happens, however, will be revealed once you read this update. Have at it, hoss! I come bringing reviewer replies:**

**RogueNya- Sirius deserves nothing less than going out like a freakin' gangsta, and I'm glad that you appreciated it. As of this chapter, Harry is recently-turned fourteen.**

**Justlookingforupdates- Thanks so much! We're all sad about Sirius. There will never be anyone quite like the old mutt.**

**timber- Um…wow. Sorry about disappointing you. The way I developed my writing style includes making the reader ask questions and then answering them in a later chapter or something, and Bella's breakout will be explained in due time. Please don't hate me, or call me a brain-dead twat. That kinda hurt my feelings. Anyway, the only reason I would ever put down the blunt is to pick up the bong, man. Detox is for quitters, and I shall do my best to explain.**

**Wizardmon0073- Harry's cool, but he's a bit dim. He showed Bella his face because of this fact. And also because he's awesome. Anyway, Harry only accepted Remus so quickly because he was already pretty twisted when the werewolf arrived, so his mind wasn't working all-too properly. Thank you for your words, I'll work on what I can, and look forward to this chapter.**

**HP-DG-SB- I beg forgiveness! Oh, trust me when I say that good ol' Bella's upance will come when she least expects it. And it will come…MWA HA HA HA HA HA!**

**vizard- Yeah, Harry was drunk. I don't know about you, but when I get drunk, I get **_**really **_**emotional and stuff. I've cried in front of complete strangers, so I figure that if it's good enough for me, it's good enough for Harry.**

**Najiro- I wept tears of blood after I wrote out the death scene, so you're not alone in your grief. It will be worth it. There are high prices for quality stuff.**

**nobother- Thanks a bunch!**

**lego-king- I'm glad to hear my story has allowed someone to find love. Yay me!**

**flame55- Muchos gracias!**

**blackroselover- Harry's new nickname is Shock 'n Awe 'cause he's so shocking it's awesome! Lol.**

**Winchester Squishy- I know, poor Sirius! Argh! Anyway, Hogwarts'll still be reeling from Harry's time there by the time his kids go there. And I'm relieved that at least**_** some**_**body gets my humor.**

**nxkris- Thanks! I've been pissed off that Sirius didn't get a fitting death since reading the Ministry battle way back when, so I decided to give him an epic death more befitting a man of his caliber.**

**murdrax- I'm thinking of having Severus be that one bastard who you just love to hate, like how he's portrayed in the movies.**

**Amber-Says-Go-Die- I give you props on your dope-ass penname. I dig it. I hate myself for killing Sirius, but I'm not into scumbag writers, so I can't say in all honesty that I love myself. Lol.**

**TheSithWriter- Thanks for the kind words! I'll try my damndest to finish this story.**

**ceo55-Your wait's over! Here's the new chapter and thanks for the review.**

**Naginator- Oh, hell he shall raise when he gets to the dusty old castle.**

**darkplayer35- Here's the update you asked for!**

**sanbeegoldiewhitey- Sorry! (but not really) (but seriously, though, really)**

**Lord Jace- I feel honored that you would deem to review my humble story, my liege. And c'mon, who wouldn't want a wandgun, honestly? And I made a new shirt for Harry to make his grand entrance, just for you.**

**Victorules- You must have the gift of Sight! And don't worry, he'll need the sword in a chapter or two. It's funny you should mention avoiding zoos. I haven't been to a zoo in, like a decade 'cause when I was but a wee tyke, I had an exceedingly traumatic incident at the L.A. Zoo that involved an elephant and leave it at that.**

**Wow, these reviewer replies are starting to take longer to write than that actual chapters! Whew, anyway, here's the new chap!**

**Disclaimer: I do not profess to own any people, places, things, ideas, or concepts that are already owned by someone else. This I do solemnly swear as a citizen of Your Momma, of which I became last night. If you don't get it, then I did that whole disclaimer for nothing.**

Chapter 6: Helter Skelter

17 September, 2003

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, somewhere in Northern Scotland, United Kingdom

"May I offer you a lemon drop, Mr. Potter?"

"That'd be wonderful, Headmaster, thanks."

Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Morpheus, and Fawkes were nestled in the Headmaster's study. After a few minutes of sobering up that morning and going to the hospital to retrieve Sirius' remains, Remus had used the box he'd brought yesterday to portkey himself, Harry, and Morpheus to Hogsmeade, where they were escorted by a half-giant named Rubeus Hagrid onto the grounds and through the castle.

The wards and runes throughout the ancient place of learning fascinated Harry, and he took the first opportunity to try the computer in such a magically-saturated place. He was exceedingly happy when the runic array proved to be not only workable, but exceptional, and the siphoning array worked brilliantly.

Hagrid brought them up, via movable winding staircase, to an office with solid oak doors. A brass name plaque proclaimed that the study belonged to _A.P.W.B. Dumbledore._ Remus had burst open the door to be melodramatic, and Harry stepped in moments later.

Now, with Remus gone, Harry was alone with Dumbledore. Morpheus was entranced by the phoenix, and through the bond they shared, Harry could sense that Morpheus was a bit envious of the firebird. His claws twitched, and the wizard knew his familiar was just itching to 'acquire' Fawkes to add to his ever-growing collection.

"Well, you have most certainly caused quite a stir-up within the magical community, Harry. May I call you Harry?"

"Of course, Professor," Harry replied. "But, if I may make an inquiry on my familiar's behalf, I was wondering if Fawkes would permit Morpheus to acquire him."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, scrutinizing the tiny dragon more closely. "A metadrake, if I'm not mistaken. Well, if Fawkes consents, I can see no problem. Fawkes?" The immortal nodded its graceful head, trilling in amusement.

Harry watched as Morpheus winged his way over to Fawkes' perch. Now, forgive me if this hurts a bit. I've been practicing, but it still pinches a little, I'm told. He pressed his claw against the phoenix's wing and closed his eyes. Other than a shuffling of its feathers, Fawkes seemed to take no notice of the metadrake's acquisition process.

When he was done, Morpheus shuddered violently (it was always difficult for Morpheus to change the first time), and sprouted crimson and gold plumage while he grew several times his original size. When the transformation was complete, two identical phoenixes sat on the golden perch, both trilling softly to one another.

"Fascinating creatures, metadrakes," Dumbledore said. "How did you come to meet such an interesting beast?"

"I actually injured him when I crossed into his territory. He attacked me as a puma, then turned into a bear when it became clear that I wasn't easy prey. Still took him down, though. After that, we've become inseparable. There's not much else to it."

"You must inform me of all your adventures these past seven years, Harry. Would you consent to answer the plethora of questions I have for you?" When the boy nodded, Dumbledore continued. "The first and foremost question on my mind is how on Earth you managed to survive when your relatives left you in the United States?"

"I probably wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for Padfoot. Sirius Black," he added at the slightly confused look on the old man's face. The confusion evolved into shock quickly. "And before you say anything, let me explain about the old mutt."

During the next couple of hours, Harry related to Dumbledore the last several years of his life, sometimes having to demonstrate an obscure or random piece of magic he'd explained. Albus was rather surprised when he found out that he wasn't Lord Flamel's only apprentice, and much impressed at Harry's knowledge and practial use of runes when he saw the Common electrical device working perfectly in his castle.

At the end of it, Albus was rather surprised at the young man sitting before him. The remorse he felt at leaving him with the Dursleys was still there, but it was lessened by the fact that the tiny baby had turned into this young man. When he had trained under Nicolas, the alchemist always used to say that everything happened for a reason, and this young man before him was obvious proof of that.

"I must confess," Albus said, deep regret etched into his every wrinkle, "that I have done wrong by you so many times, Harry. The last two decades of my life are wrought with mistakes that I could have avoided, and so many people I've seen grow up from young children have died before my eyes because of them, including your parents. I believed the stories about your godfather, and even had a part in sentencing him to life in Azkaban, robbing you of ever having a modicum of childhood. Would you forgive an old man for his shortsightedness?"

Harry was at a loss for words for a moment after that. When he regained his voice, he muttered, "You have nothing to apologize for, sir. You're human, no matter how powerful or wise you are, and to err is human."

"And to forgive is divine," Dumbledore said, finishing the old adage. "Indeed, you are truly your parents' child. It seems, with Sirius aiding in your training, you've turned out even better than had you gone to our esteemed institute of learning. However, I must insist that you complete your training within the wards of Hogwarts."

"Why?" Harry asked. "I don't want to sit back and wait for Voldemort to return. You know what Lestrange's appearance means as well as I do, and I for one will not simply watch for him to come back."

"Do you know why Voldemort did not die when the Killing Curse rebounded on him those many years ago?" Harry shook his head mutely. "By any chance, do you know what a Horcrux is?" A glimmer of understanding shone in Harry's eyes, and Albus nodded.

"Is that how the wooly bastard did it, then? How many?"

"I cannot be completely sure, but it is most definitely more than one, and at least two are in this castle at the moment."

"How do you know this?"

"It was actually quite simple. A few simple Dark-magic detection charms at each of the three master runic arrays throughout the school, although if legend is true, there is a fourth somewhere in the bowels of the castle I might have missed. I can't pinpoint their locations, but it is enough to know that they are here."

"So two or more, eh?" Harry scratched his chin. "How much do you know about Lord Voldemort, Professor?"

By the time Harry left Dumbledore's office, he'd not only learned far more than he needed to about Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, as his mother named him, but he'd also accepted the offer of sanctuary at Hogwarts castle. He'd also convinced Dumbledore to help with his training, since the old man was probably the only person in this castle he couldn't overcome with magic or might. Albus Dumbledore was considered by most to be one of the top magic-users in the world, he was also an accomplished swordmaster, and if rumor was to be believed, had topped off at an eighty-nine on the Warbler Scale, which placed him as a Deva.

Deciding that he'd had enough of consciousness for one day, Harry followed the very eloquently-drawn map Dumbledore had given him to the guest quarters.

The guest quarters were situated on the first floor of the castle, just off the Entrance Hall, and were well-furnished. It seemed as though Hogwarts wanted to impress any and all visitors. A queen-size canopy bed with elaborately carved head- and foot-boards sat in the center of the room, with cerulean blankets that matched the intricate tapestries and rugs that clothed the walls and floor. A large, navy sofa was situated near a fireplace with an already roaring blaze within, and the end tables near the bed and couch were of the finest mahogany. Off to one side was a large bureau of the same wood, but with infinitely more detail to the carved surfaces.

After placing all his clothing into the wardrobe and the rest of his possessions into the dresser, Harry took stock of all his equipment. Sirius had drilled into his godson's head that a wizard was only as good as his gear, and his gear was only as good as the wizard allowed it to be.

He laid out all the things that his battlefield belt contained and took stock. Five four-gram packets of Erumpent horn, powdered. Twelve blocks of Insta-Ice. Seven bezoars. Eight doses of gillyweed, each able to sustain him underwater for exactly an hour and forty-eight minutes. Several rubber bands, which he sometimes used to throw off his opponents during duels. Two vials of Living Death, three of boom-juice, five each of Pepper-Up and Rejuvination Draught, and two of Dreamless Sleep. A semi-new Aerohawk Quidditch broom. Goggles with sight-enhancement, anti-glare, anti-breaking, and impervious enchantments on them. The Kawasaki Ninja that had received the same enchantments that had been placed on Sirius' old Harley, as well as a few extras added by Harry himself. A small, obsidian dagger with runes Harry carved into it himself that prevented any dulling or breaking of the blade, along with a scabbard for it. Some chalk that would mark on anything, for his alchemical magicks. The Potter and Black Head-of-House rings (the Potter ring was a heavy gold affair, with a massive ruby as the centerpiece, the Potter family crest etched into the face; the Black ring was a thin, silver thing with intricately carved whorls and swirls, with five black diamonds embedded into it, the largest of which held the Black crest). Punitor and its sheath, the wandgun and its holster, his _shinboku_ and phoenix feather spare wand along with its own spring-loaded holster that was worn around the wrist, Ferocia in its own ornate scabbard, and Sirius' wand, an odd combination of oak and dragon's heartstring.

Harry checked the blades for any signs of damage from the last battle, polished all three wands, rechecked to see that the Erumpent packets were still properly sealed, and inspected every other piece of equipment he had for signs of damage. Finding none, Harry nodded, satisfied, and pulled out a miniscule bottle fit only for a toy, then unshrunk it and took a long pull.

Sitting on the bed, Harry pulled out his laptop and started perusing some fan fiction while drinking Buchanon rum.

Daphne Aria Greengrass awoke that morning, as with almost every other morning, with the breaking dawn. Not that she could actually see the sun rising, since the Slytherin dormitories were in the dungeons of Hogwarts, but she'd been doing it since before she could remember.

Her intense violet eyes scanned the dorm, which had only one other bed besides her own, and it was occupied by her long-time friend, Tracey Davis. Deciding that sitting in bed wasn't doing her any good, Daphne got up and went to take care of her morning ablutions.

From the moment the Sorting Hat had put her in Slytherin, Daphne Greengrass had been cold. She had to be, especially considering that her housemates hated her because of the fact that she was half-blooded. She and Tracey were the only two half-bloods in the Serpent House, and their peers never let them forget it.

So Daphne put up the facade of the Ice Queen as a defense mechanism, using her Muggle heritage to her advantage by dressing in dark, gothic clothing and coloring several chunks of her otherwise jet-colored hair the same color as her irises. The Slytherins, along with the rest of the school, steered clear of her, either because they were afraid of associating with a half-blood, or because they were scared off by the frigid gothic bitch persona she'd shrouded herself in. Only Tracey knew otherwise.

After clothing herself in the Hogwarts uniform, she woke up Tracey, who wasn't too thrilled about that.

"You suck," Tracey said tiredly, rubbing her eyes. "Bloody early bird."

"But you know what they say about early birds," Daphne quipped as she pulled on her green and silver striped stockings. "They always get the worm."

"So what's your worm, then?" retorted her friend, fighting back a yawn.

"Don't know," Daphne shrugged, picking up her wand and using it to bring her long hair into a messy bun at the back of her head before tying it up with a bone-white ribbon.

She checked over her homework for Charms while waiting for Tracey to shower and dress, scribbling off a few redundant sentences in her essay about Summoning Charms to get it to the required three feet of writing.

"Come on," Tracey grunted, slipping on her shiny black shoes. "Let's get some breakfast."

They made their way up to the Great Hall, where most of the school was already eating. Daphne shot a mock glare at her companion, who shrugged with an easy smile. It was always like this: Greengrass would wake up earlier than most, and would then always be one of the last to arrive at breakfast because Tracey took so long.

Sitting down at the Slytherin table, they started selecting their food. "So what's on the agenda for today?" Daphne asked as she loaded up her plate with hash browns.

"Well, after Care of Magical Creatures, I'm going to take a walk with Blaise around the lake," Tracey replied around a mouthful of scrambled egg. The she cast an eye over the table and added, "if he isn't sick or something."

"Must be a flu going through the castle," Daphne murmured. "Remember the Weasley boy threw up in Potions the other day?"

"Yes, but that might've been because he was sitting too close to Crabbe's cauldron," Tracey replied, grimacing at the mere memory of the horrid stench that came from her housemate's class work.

"Yeah, it could've been that," Daphne conceded. "Oh, look. Headmaster's got a few words to say. I just hope they make sense this time." A smile crossed her face when she remembered the few words Professor Dumbledore had to say at the beginning of her first year at Hogwarts.

"May I have your attention, please?" Dumbledore said, standing from the winged chair at the staff table. "It is my great pleasure to inform you all that we will be having a new face in the castle, and the fourth-years will gain one more peer."

The students almost immediately started chattering, speculating on who the new kid would be. Tracey smirked at Daphne. "Maybe it's a hot bloke to melt you, Ice Queen," she muttered in an undertone only her friend could hear.

Before Daphne could retort, Dumbledore continued. "Now, our new student has suffered a most grievous loss recently, so I would like you all to be kind to him and treat him as you would any other student. Now, may I please introduce to you-"

He was interrupted by a flash of flame that erupted in the direct center of the Great Hall, halfway between the house tables and the staff table. When it subsided, a young man with shaggy, unruly black hair stood casually, with his back turned to the students. A magnificent phoenix sat perched on his shoulder.

The boy turned his head slightly to the right, and Daphne caught the profile of a rather handsome face with brilliant green eyes, shrouded slightly by the shot-with-green black hair of his fringe. He was wearing black robes, but they weren't the ones Hogwarts uniforms required. They had bright green stitching, and several runic designs she recognized from her Ancient Runes class were sewn in with the same color, as well as more than a few she didn't. The shirt he wore underneath boldly proclaimed, 'Parselmouths do it with their tongues.' A dragon-hide sheath held a sword at his side, another on his back, and he had well-worn boots on his feet.

He turned to the phoenix, and said in a slightly Americanized British accent, "Dammit, Morpheus, I said facing the _students, _not the teachers. You ruined my entrance, dude." As Daphne watched, a ripple went across the phoenix's body, and suddenly changed into a tiny, draconic creature with dark green scales.

An echoing voice sounded in her head, I told you it takes awhile to get accustomed to any given form, especially magical creatures. Should I try again? Several heads turned in confusion, but Daphne already knew that it was the dragon who had spoken.

"What, and make a complete fool of myself?" the boy replied. "No, I'm fine with everyone only thinking I'm half an idiot." He spun to face the students and bowed low before straightening with a wide, slightly lopsided smile. "Hello, all! My name's Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you!"

A moments ringing silence followed his statement, then the whole Hall erupted in mutters and whispers. Harry Potter? After seven years under the status of missing person, Harry bloody Potter just shows up out of the blue in the Great Hall, transported by a metadrake in phoenix morph? What the hell was going on?

Daphne was one of the few who saw McGonagall bringing in the Sorting Hat. Tracey noticed it as well.

"So what house d'you reckon he'll be in?" she asked, eyes sweeping up and down Harry's form appraisingly. "Hope he gets in Slytherin. I wouldn't mind befriending _him_, if you know what I mean?"

"You _do_ have a boyfriend, you know," came a deep voice behind them. Tracey squeaked as her face flooded with color. Blaise Zabini, Tracey's boyfriend of three months, eased into a seat next to her, his dark skin contrasting sharply with his short, silvery hair and matching eyes.

"And _you_ weren't supposed to hear that," Tracey mumbled, face in her hands. Daphne was still gazing at the savior of the Wizarding world, biting her lip in deep thought.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said loudly enough that the chattering died down. "I will place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it will determine which house you will be placed in for the duration of your education. Is that clear?"

"Yes, it is, Professor," replied Harry. The Scotswoman set the hat down on his messy hair, and it rested there easily.

Then, Harry felt a strange pressure on his Occlumency shields before an ancient presence enveloped his mind. _Well, Occlumency, eh? Ah, no wonder. You've got a lot of stuff going on up here, Potter._

_Who're you? _Harry managed to think.

_Who else would I be, you daft wanker? I'm the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, of course! Were you expecting the Tooth Faerie? Nevermind. Let's get down to business. Hmm…We've got loyalty and a drive to help, most definitely. Knowledge, wit, intelligence...that's present by the bucketloads. No small amount of courage and bravery, either. Ambition and cunning, boy, you've got cunning as well. You won't be an easy one to sort._

_Well, Padfoot said that I was Gryffindor's sole heir,_ Harry reasoned. _Why not put me there?_

_Because, Potter, you're also the blood-heir of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and a magical heir to Slytherin. So, the most logical conclusion is..._

"Mr. Potter cannot be Sorted," announced the Hat to many murmurs and confused glances. "For now, he shall choose where he eats and sleeps, and will have access to all four common rooms."

Grinning, Harry loped off to the table covered by a red and gold cloth to sit next to redheaded twins, which didn't go quite as planned, seeing as how they'd slipped a whoopie-cushion with a Sound-Amplification enchantment added to it, as well as a runic scheme that Transfigured any air that left its mouth into noxious methane fumes colored green.

All in all, not the best start to Harry Potter's career as a Hogwarts student.

"Mr. Potter, as this is your first day at Hogwarts, I will give you this one exception. I do not condone idle chatting in my classroom." McGonagall's glare bored into Harry's blushing face, and he apologized. "Now, since you were so _obviously_ paying attention, would you care to demonstrate the Switching charm for us?"

Harry had been talking with his new friends, Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom, about his views on the U.K. Quidditch teams, and hadn't been listening very well. But he was pretty close to perfect with a Switching charm, thanks to several choice pranks Sirius had taught him, and he smiled.

"Certainly, Professor. What would you like to see?" He pulled out his spare wand, since he didn't want to announce his wandgun to the world just yet.

"First, switch the middle finger of your left hand with the cactus, then do the same with the index finger of your right hand, and finally, reverse it all." McGonagall watched with a critical eye as he started the wand movements.

In seconds, his middle finger was replaced by the cactus, and he wiggled the digit, which was poking out of the dirt in the bowl the Professor had given them at the start of class. Moving the wand to his right hand, he repeated the process so that the finger in the soil was now a few centimeters shorter, and then, with a flourish of his wand, they all righted themselves. He gave her a cheeky grin as he twirled the wand around his fingers like a drummer would his sticks.

"Hold out your hands," McGonagall said, then inspected the two digits he'd switched, making sure that they had their full range of movement. Thoroughly impressed, McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "Very well done, Potter. Five points to…ah, never mind." Harry very nearly smirked.

When the bell rang, the Transfiguration teacher asked him to stay after class. "Yes, Professor?" he asked innocently.

"How much can you do, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked. "I've very rarely seen such a promising student in this classroom as you."

"I can probably take my Transfiguration NEWT today," Harry said, shrugging. "My tutors were really quite good, and it's only thanks to them that I'm so capable."

"You have much faith in your prowess, Mr. Potter," the cat Animagus said. "Would you care to demonstrate some of your skills?"

"Of course, Professor." Harry whipped out his wand and cast a critical eye around the room but found nothing. Fighting to hide a grin, Harry conjured a block of granite from the ether, then Transfigured it into a pair of macaques and had the monkeys hop around the room, doing a simian dance of sorts. The macaques broke into a large swarm of African honey bees mid-leap, and they all landed on Harry's chin, forming a living beard.

With a final wave of his wand, the bees converged and changed into a red rose shot with streaks of gold, which he handed to the Professor. "And that ain't the half of it, either," he quipped with his lopsided grin that was quickly becoming a signature at the school.

McGonagall was silent for a moment as she examined the rose and found the Gryffindor crest emblazoned on an inner petal. "I must say, this is exquisite work, Mr. Potter. I doubt your father could have done as well in his prime." She paused, then said, "I suppose your proficiency extends to several other branches of magic as well?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied. "I've already had Professor Babbling on me because I could carve and charge a simple cheering runic array."

"I see," McGonagall murmured. She lapsed into silence for a bit, then seemed to remember that Harry was still there. "Well, off with you, Potter. Your lunch is waiting for you in the Great Hall. Just be sure not to mistake my classroom for a public forum. Not everyone can spare class time like you can."

As he walked down the hallway, the magical-vision charms on his glasses showed two dark gray forms hiding behind a suit of armor, the color he'd already associated with Disillusionment charms. His bounty-hunting instincts rose up, and he used an old dueling trick he'd picked up from Sirius called spellchaining.

The concept of spellchaining is simple, but the practice is much more complex. Simply put, the art of chaining spells together is finding similarities in the wand movements necessary for spells and using those to cut down on casting time. For example, the spellchain Harry used combined the Knockback jinx, a downward flick followed by a straight jab at the target, and the Stone-Shaping charm, which was a straight jab followed by a sort of clockwise stirring motion towards whatever stone the caster intends to reshape.

So instead of shoving his wand forward twice for both spells, he merely twitched the tip of his wand downward, followed by the jab, and instantly went into the stir.

This pushed both Disillusioned forms back into the wall, which suddenly grew hands and clamped around the unseen peoples' limbs securely, all done in less than five seconds.

Once he was sure they wouldn't escape, Harry dispelled the obscuring charm, only to find the two twins, whose names he'd discovered were Fred and George Weasley.

"Easy there, mate," the one on the right said. "This is only the first date. Hands-off, we're not that kind of girl, you know."

"Although you've already proven that you can knock us off our feet," added the other with a cheeky grin.

"What're you two doing, Disillusioned like that?" Harry asked, still fairly suspicious, although he knew he was probably just being overly paranoid. He glanced down at the piece of parchment they'd dropped and was surprised to see the names of the Marauders written on the top. "Say, what's this?"

"Nothing," the twins said simultaneously, with identical smirks, but Harry wasn't paying attention. He tried a simple revealing charm on the paper, and an untidy scrawl began appearing on the parchment.

"_Messers Prongs and Padfoot would like to convey their utmost pride in the newest member of the Marauders, the dirty mutt named Jetpelt, and would also like to thank the previous holders of the Marauder's Map for its rescue from Filch and its proper safekeeping, ginger snaps though they may be."_

"You found the Marauder's Map!" exclaimed Harry, half excited, half incredulous. Padfoot had told him all about the Map he, James, Remus, and Peter had developed during their stay at Hogwarts. Sadly, it had been lost to Filch just days from their graduation because of a bungle on Wormtail's part.

"How d'you know about the Map?" one of the twins asked. He craned his neck to read the parchment, and then added, "and who's Jetpelt?"

"That's me," Harry said. "Don't ask me why that's my nickname, but I know about the map because I know two of the creators and am the offspring of a third. You're looking at a second-generation Marauder right here, fellas."

"You know the Marauders?" they asked in unison, which was starting to creep Harry out a bit. "Who are they?"

"Well, Padfoot is Sirius Black, supposed mass-murderer, traitor, and my lovable, late godfather," Harry started. "Prongs is none other than my dad, James Potter, Wormtail is lowlife traitor Peter Pettigrew, and Moony is the sorely underappreciated Remus Lupin."

"Professor Lupin was a Marauder?" the one with the mole on his left temple asked incredulously. "And here we thought he was just a harmless old werewolf, too."

"Right you are, Fred."

"I thought you were Fred and I was George!"

"Well, now you've got me all mixed up as well, good job!"

"Stop, you're giving me a headache!" Harry said, stopping them from continuing on with their riddiculous, if hilarious, antics. "So, how much for the Map?"

For once, the twins looked serious. "Well, if you're the sole heir to the Marauders, we just wouldn't feel right making you pay for what's rightfully yours," the one with the mole said. "And by the way, I really am Fred."

"You sodding bastard, you almost had me, too. For a second, I really thought I _was_ Fred," said George thoughtfully. "But he's right. I for one would feel guilty."

"Well, here's another idea," Harry said, a slow grin appearing on his face. "How about we bring Hogwarts under the reign of a new Marauder era?"

The twins cracked identical evil smiles. "Oh, brother of mine, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts won't know what hit her, will she?" George said.

"Trust me when I say," Fred added, "that we've got pranks nobody's ever _thought _about, let alone pulled off before. And if you've got any ideas, which we know you will, just toss 'em about, and we'll figure out how to pull it off."

"So, the second incarnation of the Marauders, then?" Harry asked, holding out his hand. Both twins grasped it, and they shook, all wearing happy smirks that prophesied much humorous antics for the denizens of the castle.

At lunch, after Harry had contented himself with getting acquainted with every member of Gryffindor House, he decided he should also do the same with the other three, and thought, _Well, I might as well start with the pretty bird in Slytherin._

When he entered the Great Hall, instead of heading toward the Gryffindor table, he made his way to the one with a mellow green cloth covering it. He spotted the girl immediately, and angled toward her.

Her chestnut-haired friend noticed him first, and nudged her black-tressed companion, who turned to see what she was indicating.

Daphne's eyes went wide when she saw that Harry Potter was making a beeline towards her, and felt the Ice Queen facade melt away under the burning of her cheeks. Cursing her body for reacting in such a manner, she struggled to compose herself.

"Hello, there," Harry said cheerfully, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from the others of House Slytherin. "I'm trying to get to know everyone here so that I can know who I'll be spending three years with. If you missed breakfast, I'm Harry Potter. And you are...?"

The girl took another moment to recover before she said, "Daphne Greengrass. You know, it's not normal for the son of a pair of Gryffindors to come over to the Slytherin table. You're new, so I wouldn't expect you to know that there's a bit of house rivalry going on between the two."

"Oh, I know about that already," Harry said, waving it off and taking a seat between her and the brown-haired girl. "Forgive me if I'm being blunt, but I really don't give a sizzling sack of dragon dung." He turned to the other girl and held out his hand. "Hi, Harry Potter."

"T-Tracey Davis," she managed to choke out, nervously taking the proffered hand. "Meet to nice you. I-I mean, nice to meet you! Damn!"

"No need to be nervous," Harry said with an easy grin he'd learned from Padfoot. "It's just little old me." Then he made a show of introducing himself to the rest of the Slytherins, most of whom reacted with a thoroughly bemused expression and almost automatic handshakes. One, however, wasn't pleased by Harry's actions.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

"Sod off, Potter," Draco Malfoy hissed, looking up from the small black book, faded with age, he'd been absorbed in. "I don't want to sully my hands with a half-breed like yourself." He took a sip of his coffee, then spat it out almost instantly. "Dobby!"

A slight _pop_ later and a trembling house-elf with massive eyes even for one of its species appeared next to the boy. "You called for Dobby, Master Draco?"

"I told you two cubes of sugar and five teaspoons of cream!" Malfoy growled. "What is this rubbish you gave me?"

"Dobby did exactly as you asked, Master Draco," the diminutive humanoid mumbled, wringing his hands to hide their shaking. The pitiful creature wore what looked like a filthy duffel bag with holes cut out for its arms and head. Harry was revolted by how the pureblood treated his servant.

"You did _not_," seethed Draco. "Take it back, and this time, put five teaspoons of cream and two cubes of sugar, you stupid bloody elf!"

With a thoroughly downtrodden expression, the house-elf took the goblet and vanished with another small _pop_.

"Well," said Harry, making up his mind. "You are an entirely unenjoyable person to be around. That's not a respectable way to treat your house-elf, even for an inbred piece of filth like yourself."

"What did you just call me?" Malfoy hissed, eyes widening at the insult.

"I don't think I stuttered," Harry replied quietly. He turned to a sixth-year Slytherin boy he'd met named Higgs and said, "Terence, was my statement in any way sullied by a speech impediment?" The dark-haired youth shook his head, amused that the Ponce was getting taken down a few pegs.

"You called me an inbred, you filthy half-blood!" Draco shrieked. "My bloodline is more pure than yours. Your mudblood of a mother made sure of that!" By that time, the whole Hall had decided to eavesdrop on the conversation, and a great gasp went up among the students and staff, and even a drawn-out, 'daaaaamn,' could be heard, probably by Fred and George's black friend Lee. (A/N: Sorry, just had to do it.)

Harry stared, incredulous at this stupid little ferret. "I'm sorry, I must be mistaken. I thought you'd just insulted my mother, but that couldn't be the case, because I've been told that purebloods raise their children with manners and respect for those of higher social standing than themselves."

"You're not higher in the society than I, Draco Malfoy, heir to the Great and Noble House of Malfoy!"

"Really?" Harry said, a grim smile adorning his lips as he tapped his index and middle fingers-which held the Potter and Black rings-against his cheek absentmindedly. "Last time I checked, as Lord of the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black and the Great and Noble House of Potter, I think I might just be a few light-years ahead of you, _cousin_ of mine." Sirius had informed him early on that when he returned to merry old England, a few purebloods would look down on him because of Lily's parentage, but taught him exactly how to shove his titles in their faces. He even instructed him on the perfect condescending tone in which to deliver it. The Slytherins who heard the comment smirked when reminded that the two of them were distantly related by the marriage of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black.

"So, if I were you," Harry continued, "I wouldn't make any more comments about Lily Potter, or any other Common-born witch or wizard in my presence, or I'll be forced to challenge you to an honor duel, which you would most assuredly lose."

"Prove it, then!" Malfoy exclaimed. "Fight me right now!" He pulled his wand and fired off a surprisingly quick Pain curse. Harry easily dodged, just as he saw the house-elf reappear with a new, steaming mug of coffee, and an idea popped into his mind.

"Alright then, have at you, Draco!" Harry replied. He started conjuring clothing as fast as possible and wandlessly Banishing them at the ponce.

_Gotta give him credit,_ Harry thought as Malfoy incinerated much of his Garment-Barrage with an Immolation hex. A single pair of boxers hit Draco in the face, and Harry took the time to signal Dobby the house-elf and alert him to the plan.

Howling in frustration, the Malfoy scion ripped the underwear off his head and tossed it behind him, then drew an intricate rune with his wand before shouting, "_Serpensortia!_"

Despite himself, Harry was impressed that the little berk had the power to Conjure a snake, a Brazilian bushmaster, if he wasn't mistaken. With another wave of his wand, Draco Banished the creature in Harry's general direction, but missed by a few yards, and the highly poisonous snake sailed toward the Ravenclaw table and the pretty birds there.

What nobody was expecting was for Harry to Summon the bushmaster to him, starting to speak to it even before it landed in his outstretched hand.

"_What's goin' on, bro?"_ Harry asked in Parseltongue as he caught the creature.

_"Nothing much,"_ the bushmaster admitted. _"Where am I? One minute, I'm sitting in the reptile house at the London Zoo, and then I'm zooming though the air. What gives, man?" _As it said this, the viper started looping itself around Harry's arm for warmth.

"_Wait, you're a real animal?"_ Harry pondered this for a moment. _"I thought you'd been Conjured from nothingness. That's strange. Well, anyway, you can chill it on my arm, just do me a favor and scare the piss out of this little bastard for me, would you?"_ he asked, jerking his head toward Draco Malfoy. The bushmaster bobbed its head up and down, its forked tongue slithering out for a moment.

"Not a smart move, summoning a snake in a duel against a Parseltongue," Harry said offhandedly, striding closer to his fifth cousin. "Catch, cuz!" The bushmaster coiled and shot out, helped by a little magical push from Harry. The bushmaster landed, draping like a scarf, around Draco's neck, and he screamed in a high-pitched soprano voice before Harry, chuckling, Summoned the snake back to him, where it coiled around his arm again and disappeared into his sleeve.

Harry sniffed at the air, and wrinkled his nose almost immediately after. "Geez, did you shit your pants, Draco? I asked Bushy to scare the piss out of you, but _damn._" The whole Hall burst into laughter as Professor Snape stalked forward.

"Dobby, take me to my dormitory!" Malfoy growled, cheeks flushed and a deep scowl on his face. When no answer was given, the blonde youth turned and shrieked, "Dobby, now!"

The tiny servant creature was standing, holding a pair of boxers in his hands like they were the Holy Grail. He'd been like that since they'd landed in his arms after Draco had thrown them. "Master is giving Dobby underwear," he said hesitantly, as if not truly believing it. "Draco is presenting Dobby with clothes!"

"That's right," Harry quipped with a smirk. "Dobby, you know what that means, don't you?" The house-elf nodded tremulously.

"Dobby is free!" the elf crowed in exultation.

"Although Mr. Potter will not be for the next three months," Snape said, glaring at Harry. "I don't know where you got your manners from, but at Hogwarts, it's not at all polite to incite a duel during lunchtime. You will be serving detentions at eight o'clock sharp, and thirty points from Gryffindor for-"

"Actually, Severus, I believe that it was Mr. Malfoy who began the duel, with a Pain Rack curse if I'm not mistaken. Also, Mr. Potter belongs to no house as of yet, so if anyone is to receive your punishment, it is Draco. Mr. Malfoy, you will report to my office at eight precisely, and your house will have twenty points deducted." The old man started to walk away, then turned slightly and added, "Oh, and I do so enjoy Fizzing Whizbees."

Then he left, leaving a very bewildered and furious Malfoy, who turned to his Head of House. "Come, Mr. Malfoy, I'll float you to the Common Room," Snape said, rolling his eyes and flicking his wand.

"Hey, maybe you should've kept the boxers, Draco," Harry called after them, unable to stop himself.

As the laughter of nearly every person in the Great Hall followed Draco as he was levitated down to the dungeons, he swore that Harry Potter would be repaid for this public dose of humiliation a hundred-fold.

**A/N: Well, that's the end of that chapter. This was pretty much just an introduction for Harry into the student body. There will be pranks by the gallons in store for the unsuspecting children of Hogwarts, as well as a whole heap of trouble for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students when they arrive. Until next time, everyone.**


	7. In the Shadows of Darkness, I Stand

**A/N: Hi, everybody! (Now say, 'Hi, Fullmetal Wetback!) In today's update, we follow young Harry into the depths of the school, where he and Morpheus will face off against Tom Riddle at sixteen and his pet basilisk. And that's...pretty much it.**

**Riotstarter1214: Thank you kindly!**

**Kyuubi-sama: I'm glad you lke it!**

**ceo55: Y'know, I almost feel bad for the poor blonde bastard…but then almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades. Lol.**

**Winchester Squishy: The twins are dope as fuck. 'Member in the last book in the beginning, when Snape blasts off George's ear, and he's all like, "I feel saint-like (holey). I swear to God, I was in my room, literally rolling on the floor laughing for at least five minutes straight. Freakin' the twins, man…freakin' the twins.**

**lego-king: The only reason I'm updating this so quickly is because I've gotten up until about next chapter already written out, and the rest is…well, the rest is not written out. But anyway, I haven't actually decided whether or not Harry will have a Horcrux in his brain, but you've given me something to think about. Thank you!**

**Amber-Says-Go-Die: If I had a penname like you, it'd probably be something like, **_**Ricky-Says-Go-Fuck-Yourself, **_**since that's pretty much the best comeback in my verbal arsenal…**** Anyway, I'm glad you like it, and here's the next chapter.**

**thepassat: Wow, I've never gotten a slow-clap done in my honor. It makes me feel…more adequate. Thanks. Here's a new update for ya.**

**Naginator: My Harry will be too much of an awesome dude for Fleur to be interested. If anything, he'll probably annoy the living hell out of her until she goes all avian on him and chucks a Gokakyu no Jutsu at him. Heh. Naruto references.**

**nobother: Thanks, thanks, and your wait's over.**

**blackroselover: Don't worry, Daph'll get her moment to shine in a few chapters. And I'm glad so many people enjoyed the Draco moment. What a prissy little bitch he is.**

**timber: That's actually really smart of you to not hold out any hope, 'cause I sure as hell ain't. And trust me when I say that I know what you mean. Flashbacks are sometimes necessary, especially when one has a broken leg. Heh. Hogwarts will basically be somewhat of a base of operations for Harry, and while he won't be a follower of Dumbledore, they will sorta collaborate on the war effort. Though they will butt heads a few times over strategy and stuff. And seriously dude, grow a freakin' funny bone. Really? You'd murder someone for pulling of an epic prank on you? I've had some pretty brutal ones pulled on me, and the only thing you can do is laugh it off and get them back with a prank of your own. Geez, and I thought Buzz Killington was a buzz kill. I can't see the twins as bullies, but I certainly sympathize with your view of the Marauders. I agree that they were most definitely asshole douchebags. Well, Sirius and James were. Peter's a bitch, and Remus…well, he's a werewolf, so no comment there.**

**Jrf Steel: Thanks again for the review. Harry will indeed be forced into the tournie, but it will be more like jbern's Triwizard in his dope-ass fic called **_**The Lie I've Lived**_** in the sense that it'll have more than three Tasks, and there will be six competitors; two from each school.**

**bleacher: Thank you kindly!**

**Dark Fox King: I'm glad I made you laugh, if only for a bit. We're all gonna miss the loveable Snuffles, but what are ya gonna do?**

**RogueNya: I was actually planning on having Dobby as Harry's elf, and you just solidified my resolve. So you have wished it…so it shall be.**

**HP-DG-SB: Thanks again for a great review! And thank you for a different reason as well. You sure know how to tell off flamers. Lol. That was an angry rant for the ages. But seriously, it doesn't really matter to me. I read something in a fanfiction author's note that went something like, 'Haters gonna hate, flamers gonna flame.' You can't change someone's mind just by telling them off, and I just figured, if you can't beat 'em, go cry in a lonely corner by yourself for a bit, then quit feeling sorry for yourself and man the fuck up. And, really, I don't give a flying, titty-fucking fuck about foul language, as you can see. Hah. But really, thanks for defending me, and check out this chapter. Have a blast with it.**

**And that's the end of that chapter…nah, just kidding, here it is.**

**Disclaimer: Fuck the rights to Harry Potter. Owning a house-hold name is overrated anyways. I don't need your damn billions of dollars.**

Chapter 7: In the Shadows of Darkness, I Stand as the Light

20 October, 2003

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Somewhere in Northern Scotland, United Kingdom

"Hey, Dobby?" Harry said, juggling a few pears casually. He was sitting at a small table in the kitchens, a very serendipitous find he'd come across while wandering the castle with the Marauder's Map.

"Yes, Master Harry Potter, sir?" The house-elf was by his side before he even finished the sentence. Since his emancipation from his former master those few weeks ago, Harry had bonded Dobby as his personal elf and hadn't regretted it once. Well, except for that time the little zealot had popped in on him and Susan Bones during a really, really good snogfest in one of the many broom closets the castle had to inform him that Padma Patil was asking for him. _That_ sure wasn't an awkward conversation at all…

"You've been in the castle for nigh on three years now, right?" When Dobby nodded, Harry continued. "Well, in those three years, have you ever found anything that's not on the Marauder's Map?"

Harry had been thinking about revamping the Map since the twins had relinquished their posession of it to him. As of the moment, the map showed all current residents of the castle, the secret passages, and the various incantations and special circumstances to use said passages. It did not, however, depict the lake at all, other than a large, ugly-looking scribble with the words BLACK LAKEwritten in the middle, and he was sure there was a lot going on under that water.

Dobby had looked through the map a few days ago, so he knew what was and wasn't on there. The little elf tapped his chin in a surprisingly human gesture of deep thought, then said, "Well, sir. There is the Come and Go Room, known to wizards as the Room of Requirement."

"Oh, and where might that be?"

"Dobby can show you right now, if you wish, Master Harry Potter, sir," Dobby replied. "Take my hand."

Harry grabbed the long, agile fingers, expecting the cold pull of Apparition. Instead, when he heard the faint pop, he suddenly felt strangely disconnected from everything, including his body. It lasted only for the minutest depiction of time before his reality righted itself, and he recognized, from the painting of Barnabas the Barmy, that they were on the seventh floor of Hogwarts.

"Well, that was different," Harry muttered, flexing his fingers experimentally. He looked around, and when he saw no door or other entrance to a room, he looked at Dobby with a raised eyebrow. "So where is this Room of Requirement?"

"Just wait, Master Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said. Harry watched as the diminutive creature started pacing back and forth along the hallway, eyes shut in consternation. On the third go 'round, Dobby opened his eyes and pointed. "It is there, sir."

Harry looked on as a door seemed to materialize out of the wall across the hall from the portrait of a wizard being bludgeoned by trolls in tutus. Dobby had to jump to reach the handle and opened the door for his master.

Through the door was an almost exact replica of the Gryffindor Common Room, except for the fact that there were no windows. A roaring fire crackled merrily in the massive fireplace, and the lion-head clock ticked on.

"Wow, is this a failed attempt at the Gryffindor Common Room that the founders never bothered to fix?" Harry asked, going around and looking at all the furnishings.

"No, sir," Dobby explained. "The Come and Go Room is a highly magical place, sir. It is a shifting room that changes to fit the needs of the user. To activate its magic, all Master Harry Potter sir needs to do is walk past the portrait three times while thinking of what Master wants the room to be, and on the third pass, the door will appear with the required room within."

"Wow, that's pretty damn brilliant," Harry said. "So, if I really need to bleed the basilisk, this place'll turn into a big bathroom? Or if I'm knackered, it'll change to be a bedroom?"

"Exactly, Master Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said.

"You did great, Dobby, thanks," Harry said, patting the house-elf on the head. Dobby glowed from the praise and practically squealed in delight. "You got any other gems like this you've been hiding from me?"

Dobby opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. Harry noticed and asked about it. In a halting voice, Dobby said, "Well, sir, there is another place in the castle that Dobby's _other_ Master went many times."

"And you're sure it's not on the Map?"

"Sir," Dobby muttered, uncharacteristically grave. "Nobody but Bad Malfoy has been there in over fifty years. It wouldn't be on Master Harry Potter sir's father's Map."

Harry's mind raced. He'd read _Hogwarts: A History_ a while ago, and he thought about it for a while before saying, "Dobby, you're not talking about the Chamber of Secrets, are you?"

Dobby nodded fervently, unable to tell anything further about his previous master. "Do you know where the entrance is?" Another round of nodding. "Can you take me there?" Once more, the elf's head bobbed up and down. "Well, let's go, then." 

"_Open up,_" Harry hissed, and the sink shuddered violently as the transfigurative magic changed it's configuration. The pipe widened, and Harry looked down, trying to see through the darkness that reigned supreme in the hole.

He thought for a while before commanding stairs to appear in Parseltongue. His guesswork paid off as steps of polished black marble started jutting out of the side of the hole, spiraling down into the abyss.

Dobby absolutely refused to go down into the tunnel, so Harry started traipsing down the staircase. After about fifteen minutes of walking with a glowing white orb of light preceding him, Harry gave up and Animated the stairs to move like a Common escalator.

In roughly five minutes, the step he was on reached the bottom of the pipe, where he pumped power into his arcane light. The solar magic grew in size and intensity and rose to about five feet above his head.

Harry found himself in an uneven, oblong antechamber with three tunnels leading away from it. The stonework looked like it was very old, and parts of the walls seemed to be rather hastily done. Each of the tunnels had a distinctive arch that spanned across its entrance, and runes chiseled expertly proclaimed where each tunnel led.

The tunnel on the far right had the most imposing sign above it, proclaiming that at its end lay 'The Basilisk's Chamber.' The center tunnel apparently opened into 'Private Chambers' of some sort, and the last led to the 'Training Grounds.'

He studied the runes above the tunnel to his right. So the monster contained within the Chamber of Secrets was a basilisk. This gave Harry several ideas, the most prominent of which was that Morpheus would be a terror on the battlefield with a basilisk morph.

Harry called for Morpheus through their familiar bond, and the metadrake appeared in a flash of flames in his phoenix form.

What are you doing down here? Morpheus asked exasperatedly. The Chamber of bloody Secrets. Do you do this just to raise my blood pressure?

"No, I'm doing this so you can have a basilisk morph," Harry retorted. Morpheus pondered this for a moment, then told Harry to proceed. He stayed in the phoenix body because an immortal firebird was the best battle morph he had against a creature who could kill with its gaze.

The two of them traveled down the tunnel for about a quarter of a mile before reaching another door. Harry was about to command the doors to swing wide for him when his supernaturally enhanced hearing picked up a voice issuing from within.

"...finally, I am powerful enough to escape from the pages of the Horcrux," a clear male voice crowed in exultation. "I'm surprised that Lucius' spawn has such a potent magical core, though. Well, no matter. It's time that Slytherin's monster wreaks havoc in this school again!"

Harry didn't like the sound of that, so a long, drawn-out hiss escaped his lips and the doors burst open as he drew Punitor with one hand and palmed his wandgun in the other. Morpheus soared into the chamber, mirroring Harry far below.

Taking account of his surroundings, Harry found himself in a massive cavern that was held up by dozens of massive pillars with bas-reliefs of every kind of snake imaginable, each with trillion-cut emeralds for eyes. A single pillar in the center of the chamber was easily as thick around as five of the smaller ones, with a single, colossal snake carved around the thing, with runes etched onto the snake's body. At the back of the place was a massive statue of who Harry assumed was Salazar Slytherin, cut from black granite with veins of white stone throughout, but the sculpture was so huge, Harry couldn't make out the face where it hid in the shadows.

"Ah, I was wondering when I'd be seeing you, Potter." The boy from whom the voice came from was handsome, with dark, slightly wavy hair and surprisingly green eyes, though they were much darker than Harry's own emerald irises. He was taller, too, and possibly a few years older. He was wearing robes with the Slytherin crest emblazoned upon them, but Harry didn't recognize him at all, even though he'd acquainted himself with every student in the castle.

What had Harry worried was the pale, blonde-haired body lying prone next to an aged diary that was glowing with a faint, yet sinister reddish light. Malfoy looked worse for wear, and it didn't look like he was getting better, either. In fact, Harry could've sworn that the boy's pallor was getting paler and grayer with each passing second.

He didn't have time to linger on his cousin's poor condition, however. He turned to the other boy, who smiled evenly at him. "Who are you? What have you done to the arrogant ponce?"

The boy's smile widened as he twirled what Harry believed was Malfoy's wand idly. "Me? I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and the boy's magic is supplementing this form. In fact-" But he had to stop in order to dive out of the way of a Bone-Snapping hex Harry directed at him.

Harry's face was tremulous with rage. "My, you're so volatile, Potter. Didn't your godfather teach you any manners?" laughed the teenager who would become Lord Voldemort. He raised a Mage Shield to stop the next salvo that erupted from Harry's wand. "Oh, and quite powerful, too. It's such a shame that I will have to kill you. You could've made a wonderful lieutenant."

"Fuck you, Moldyshorts," Harry snarled, pissed off that Voldemort's Mage Shield was eating his spells like they were Stunners. After seeing how ineffective his hexes and curses were, Harry changed tactics, Transfiguring some fallen stones into rocky wolves. He left the material as it was in order to preserve his strength. This was going to be a bloody long fight, and if he wasn't cautious, all of his training would have been for naught.

Riddle dispelled his shield and went on the offensive, destroying the wolves before throwing a multicolored barrage of spells at Harry, who could only identify a few, all of which were Darker than a moonless night.

After raising several solid shields, Harry made a run for the big pillar, and Voldemort started slinging heavy curses into it. The column, however, seemed to absorb the magic, and when Riddle stopped, a massive burst of pure magical energy erupted from the mouth of the carved basilisk.

The apparition of the young Voldemort had to dodge out of the way to avoid the huge energy beam, and even then, he still got a few leg burns for his troubles. Howling in frustration, Riddle spat out a quick phrase in Parselmouth.

"_Monster of Slytherin, destroy this pathetic child!_" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a bit of movement, and threw himself to the right. Not a second later, the humongous head of an even more titanic snake crashed into the pillar carved with its image.

The basilisk was easily a hundred yards long and it was thicker around than Harry was tall. It had a fluted crest at the back of its head, and its scales were a muddy greenish color. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he beheld the creature.

"Morpheus, if you want this morph, get it now," he called. He used a tricky little spell that made the lenses of his glasses mirrored, then looked up in time to see a phoenix dive-bomb the great snake. An ear-piercing shriek blasted from the basilisk's mouth as Morpheus gouged the creature's eyes out with its talons to get a good grip on the thing. Rolling his eyes, Harry dispelled the now-useless charm on his glasses.

Morpheus shifted back to metadrake form and attached his suction cups to the basilisk's head. Harry took the time to charge up a Bone-Exploding curse at the snake's midsection, but was disheartened when it merely opened a small, circular cut in its hide. If he was going to kill this thing, he'd have to use Punitor.

After replacing the wandgun, Harry unsheathed his godfather's sword, Ferocia. The weapon was a strange combination of an English broadsword's blade and the hilt and crossguard of a pirate's cutlass and perfectly suited to Sirius' personality; it was a perfect mix of elegance and rougishness. The pommel was a single, massive ruby, and the wire-wrapped handle felt good in his hand.

He was just about to start attacking the monster when his precognitive powers screamed at him to duck. Harry dropped to the ground just in time to avoid a sickly-orange curse that flew over his head, and he turned to Voldemort, whose face was a mask of anger.

"I will end you, boy!" he hissed. "I will end you and destroy any hope for the Light!" Bursts of light shot from Voldemort's borrowed wand faster than Harry could react, and a Bone-Shattering curse turned his femur into so much bony shrapnel the same time some foul curse he didn't recognize struck him in the side. The flesh there immediately screamed in protest as unknown magicks worked their will on his body.

Fighting through the pain, Harry swung both swords in tandem and created a massive, swirling burst of flames that flew at Riddle and struck him a glancing blow on his ribs. The robes there caught flame, and the exposed flesh was burnt and blistered.

So he wasn't immortal. With that thought in mind, Harry dug deep, trying to ignore his ruined leg with the help of a bit of Occlumency, and started casting long-range swordspells, driving the evil wizard back. Meanwhile, Morpheus had changed back to the phoenix and was harrying the basilisk, keeping it occupied.

Streamers of light and magic shot through the gloom of the chamber as Harry and Voldemort traded spells, ribbons of barbed wire and poisonous plague curses mixing with gusts of wind and shieldbreaking cutters and bludgeoners. Harry managed to open a wound on the Dark Tosser's right arm that was resistant to healing magic, then used that moment of hesitation to land a heavy bludgeoner that crushed the wind from Riddle's chest and hurled him into a pillar.

Pivoting on his good leg, Hary swung both swords, with a shouted, "_Gatsuuga Tengetsu!_" The spell, roughly translated to Heavenly Moon Twin Fang, was one of the most power-draining swordspells in Harry's arsenal. It basically just cut through any and everything that got in its way, including magic-resistant hide.

A silvery burst of light erupted from both blades, slicing through the air in twin scything blasts of energy. They struck the basilisk in tandem and ripped the gigantic snake asunder. The massive trunk slammed into the ground, spraying dark scarlet blood all over as Harry sank to his knees from the drain on his core.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry turned just in time to see a jet of green rushing toward him, faster than he could dodge or raise a solid shield. _It can't end like this! _he thought angrily. _Not now!_ He crouched to try and leap away when his field of vision was filled with red plumage before it burst into flames.

"Morpheus!" Harry yelled, shocked. The metadrake had dove in front of the spell just inches from him and was now only so much ash on the floor. Bloody rage filled Harry to the brim as he whirled to face the man, then stopped when a thought struck him. _He mentioned a Horcrux, so that means his body might not be permanent. He's still siphoning off energy from Malfoy._

As Voldemort restarted the duel with some heavy-hitters, Harry dive-rolled closer to Draco, whose chest was rising and falling less frequently now, and swiped Punitor against the ground in the direction of his foe.

The earth split in a straight line, heading directly at Riddle. The tremor traveled faster than Voldemort could react, and the elemental magic burst upward, pushing the Dark Lord back and sending him to the floor.

Harry grabbed the diary and grimaced. Immediately upon contact, a darkness began hammering on his Occlumency shields, trying to attack his mind. Gritting his teeth, he tossed the book up, raised his wandgun, and cast one of the most destructive spells he knew: Fiendfyre.

The Dark Flames curse was part elemental magic, part Animation, and part Transfiguration. In essence, it created an amorphous, sentient gout of flames that continued its existence until either the spell was canceled or the caster perished.

Harry felt a huge drain on his magic as a wolf made of angry red flames burst forth from his wand and struck the diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Just as the lupine fire began changing shape, becoming something larger and with wings, Harry yanked away the thread of magic that connected the Fiendfyre with his magical core, and the fire dissipated, leaving nothing but a scorch mark on the floor.

An unearthly wail filled the cavern as the Tom Riddle-wraith clutched his head and fell to his knees, rents appearing in his skin that glowed with the same light that the diary had exuded. He raised Draco's wand and opened his mouth, but then the shade burst apart into tiny beads of light that faded to nothing.

Panting, Harry assessed the damages, cutting open his trouser leg and grimacing at the hunk of raw, bloody flesh that had once been his thigh. After running a diagnostic charm on it, Harry decided that this was way beyond his abilities to heal, and Vanished all the bone fragments that poked out of the decimated body part before wrapping it in Conjured gauze and Immobilizing it.

Then, he lifted his robes and received a shock. The skin where Voldemort's spell had hit was black and painful, and the worst part was that the affected area was growing rapidly. So far, he had a dark blotchy mark the size of his hand on his side that ached and burned and stung like nobody's business whenever he made the slightest move.

Grunting, Harry started to crawl towards Malfoy, whose visage was becoming less sickly, but the pain became too great, and he cried out in a mix of anger, frustration, and agony. "Motherfucking cock-sucker!"

He lay on the cold stone floor, trying to muster up enough strength to push himself up again. The pestilence that Voldemort had stricken him with became more painful with each tick of his watch, and the shattered bone in his leg wasn't making things any easier.

You know, it would be easier with a bit of phoenix tears, a familiar voice said as something wet splashed onto the infected area of his torso. Instantly, the pain lessened considerably, and Harry raised his head to find the dark, intelligent eyes of an immortal firebird staring back.

"Morpheus! What-how?" Harry stammered, unable to comprehend for a few seconds as his brain dealt simultaneously with the pain and this pleasant surprise. "I saw you get hit by the Big Green. You died!"

And what happens to a phoenix when it dies? asked Morpheus, obviously sarcastic.

Harry frowned at his familiar's tone, but answered anyway. "They're reborn as a chick. And since you acquired Fawkes while he was in his adult form, you changed into your original form, then transformed again into a mature phoenix, and now you're here."

Correct, Mr. Potter, came the reply. After several more teardrops, it became clear that even their healing properties weren't enough to get rid of the pestilence on his side. After making a quick change into the blink dog, Morpheus offered one of his overly-large ears. What's say we blow this joint?

"My thoughts exactly," Harry said, looking over at Malfoy's unconscious form. "Think we should take him, too?"

Morpheus shrugged. I suppose so. Grab onto him so I can blink us into the infirmary. Morpheus moved them closer to Draco, and Harry looped his arm around his cousin's torso, grabbing up his fallen wand before his familiar teleported them ten stories up and into the hospital wing.

"One down, six to go," Harry told Dumbledore with a grin after he told the aging headmaster about his encounter with Voldemort's Horcrux.

"An admirable summation of today's events, I think," Albus replied with a twinkling of his eyes. The boy was doing far better than he could have hoped. The two had viewed the battle in the hospital wing in Dumbledore's pensieve after Pomfrey had fixed up Harry's wounds and put his leg in a thick cast he'd have to wear for a few days.

"Once again, I must admit to being thoroughly impressed by your abilities and the courage it must have taken to face the Dark Lord. Twice already you have thwarted him, and still you are only a teenager."

"One thing I wanted to point out, though," Harry said. "The Riddle-wraith knew about Sirius. How is that possible, when the Horcrux was probably made long before Padfoot was even a twinkle in someone's eye."

Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, I caught that as well. My only theory that could explain such a phenomenon is that the soul fragments, while separate, are connected by some twisted bond through which information passes. I don't doubt that Voldemort will know of the destruction of this Horcrux by now."

They lapsed into a contemplative silence during which each was lost in their own thoughts. Then, Harry said, "I want to explore the Chamber more thoroughly."

"I thought you might. From your memory, I saw that legend was correct in assuming that there was a fourth master runic array hidden within the castle."

"Yeah, the big pillar in the middle of the basilisk chamber," Harry agreed. "But I wanted to see what those private chambers are, as well as the training grounds. If they're suitable, I might be able to use the training grounds to play catch up with Voldemort."

His hand clenched around the bedsheet, and he frowned. "That Horcrux was only a fraction of his full power, and I was barely able to match him. Hell, if I hadn't thought to destroy the soul's container, I might not have survived." He looked up into Dumbledore's eyes. "We have to start preparing for the worst, Headmaster. For me, that means training like nobody's business, and I intend to do just that."

"Your determination is commendable, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling. "If you need any assistance at all, you know where to find me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have things that need to be done. You have given me much to ponder, Harry. Heal swiftly, my boy."

After Dumbledore left, Harry begged a pain potion from Madam Pomfrey and then headed off to the third floor girl's bathroom, Levitating himself down the hallway, legs crossed and hands behind his head.

"That lazy, eh, Potter?" came a familiar voice. Harry grinned as he opened his eyes and saw Daphne Greengrass, who had become one of his best friends at the castle in the short time he'd been here.

"Gotta stay off my foot," Harry replied. "Healer's orders."

"What happened to you?" Daphne said, glancing at the cast. "Was it that trick step on the staircase off of the Great Hall?"

"No, it was a Bone-Shattering Hex in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry replied softly. Daphne started to laugh until she realized that he was serious.

"Are you off your rocker?" she asked. "Nobody's ever found the Chamber, let alone dueled in it." She looked at him suspiciously. "You're not on pain potions, are you?"

"That's not the point," Harry said, knowing that she'd catch him in the lie he would've told to anyone else. "If you'd like, I can take you down there. I was heading there anyway."

Looking skeptical, Daphne said, "I'd like to see for myself what you call the Chamber of Secrets. You sure it's not just an old broom closet?"

Harry laughed. Her wit was one of the things that he liked about Daphne. "Keep telling yourself that, oh ye of little faith."

So they made their way down to the third floor, Daphne walking and Harry floating. After Harry had started going between the House tables to befriend the Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, it was more common now to see students of different Houses walking down the halls now than it was before he'd come to Hogwarts.

When Harry stopped in front of the girl's loo, Daphne raised an eyebrow. "The Chamber of Secrets is in Moaning Myrtle's water closet, is it?" She snorted loudly. "Are you sure that you didn't just fall down the stairs and aren't trying to impress me with this whole Chamber of Secrets facade?" 

"I'm completely serious," Harry said. "Watch." He went into the bathroom and up to the sink with the little snake carved into it. "_Open._" A smile appeared on his face as he watched the astonishment in Daphne's expression as the tunnel appeared. "_Escalator._" As the black steps appeared, Harry held out a hand to her and said, "Are you coming, or what?"

**A/N: So there's the seventh chapter of this story. It's actually coming along a lot better than I thought it would be. So in the couple of weeks that Harry's been in the castle, he's gone on a rampage with the females in the student body. I didn't really want to go into it in depth, but it's good for a laugh or two later on in the story, and we'll leave it at that. Later days, all.**


	8. No Kinda Party Like a Potter Party

**A/N: **Here we are with another update to this fic. finally, right? it's been, what, three months since I updated? I know, I feel like an asshole, but I was recently fired from my job as a minor columnist for a local newspaper...apparently, the people don't need my amusing little quips and quotes and whatever else I could get away with putting in there. Oh, well. Anyway, I was stuck for awhile with no internet and looking for jobs. One bright spot in that mess, though, was that my best friend had his first child...and he named me Godpapa! Yay! Nolan Gael Vincent (that's my godson's name), was born October 7, 2011 at precisely 5:33 a.m. He weighed seven pounds, two ounces and measured nineteen inches and some change in length. Everybody do the Happy Dance with me!

Anyway, this chapter will pretty much cover the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students and the Samhain Celebration Feast, as well as a special appearance by 'Alastor Moody.' And a reviewer gave me a little tip, which I shall take and use graciously. From now on, I'll be giving the reviewer replies at the bottom so nobody has to deal with scrolling down while hating my guts for making them spin their little wheelie-dealy thing on the mouse (seriously, that action burns a tenth of an eight of a freakin' calorie...). But at least they were nice about it, so I'll be nice about it, too. Anyway, on with the fic.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own shit.

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>Chapter 8: No Kind of Party Like a Potter Party<p>

23 October, 2003

Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Somewhere in Northern Scotland

"Alright, you lot! Sit down and shut your noise holes!"

the Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth-years couldn't have fallen silent faster than if they'd had a Cone of Silence dropped on them; Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody had that effect on people. His grizzly appearance gave even the most vicious Dark wizards pause during his lifetime, and his no-nonsense aura was more than enough to frighten a classroom full of schoolchildren quite handily.

Harry could learn much from such a badass.

"Now, listen up," Mad-Eye growled. "Because of some interference by the school board, this lesson had been witheld until now, but I finally have permission to teach it to fourth- and fifth-year students."

His magical eye spun wildly in its socket, dancing from one face to the next as he pulled out a jar containing a large chimaera spider, which looked like an odd combination of tarantula, scorpion, and black widow.

"Say hello to your test subject." Weasley whimpered pitifully a few rows behind Harry as Moody coaxed the arachnid onto his desk. "Now, to the lesson. The Unforgivable Curses. Who's got one for me?"

Hermione Granger's hand went up instantly, and Daphne, who was sitting beside Harry snorted and rolled her eyes. Surprisingly, ron Weasley also raised his hand, as well as a few others.

"You, lad," Moody called."

"Ron Weasley, sir," the ginger-haired boy said respectfully. "There's the Imperius curse."

"Weasley, eh? You father helped me out a few months back," Moody commented as he nodded approvingly. "Yes, he'd know all about that curse...gave the Ministry quite a bit of trouble back in the day." His wand was out in a flash, and Harry doubted that even _he_ could outdraw the ex-Auror.

Moody aimed at the spider and muttered, "_Imperio_." the spider stiffened visibly before seemingly melting into a puddle of legs. Soon, though, it hopped into the air and began tap-dancing across the students' tables. Harry was treated to the amusing sight of Ron turning Slytherin-green as the spider piroetted in front of him.

The other students started laughing heartily as the spider continued its dance around the room, but Harry narrowed his eyes. Just what in the hell was Mad-Eye playing at, treating such a dangerous spell as a toy? Daphne and Finnegan were also suspiciously silent.

"Think it's funny, eh?" Moody asked with false mirth in his voice as the spider flew around. "What shall I have her do next? Drown herself?" The spider was suddenly at the edge of a bucket near an open window. "Throw herself from the tower?"

The students weren't so happy now, and Harry had to hand it to the man: He certainly knew how to drive a point home. "The Imperius curse gives a witch or wizard complete control over another life. You can have them kill themselves, or others as easily as thinking about itt. That's one of the reasons you'll get a life sentence in Azkaban for using it on another human. Anyone else? You!"

He pointed at the timid Neville Longbottom, who looked as though he'd rather sink into the floor than answer. "Th-the Cruciatus," he mumbled, focusing intently on his intertwined fingers.

Moody gazed at Neville for a moment with both eyes before saying, "Your name's Longbottom, is it?" The boy nodded, and Mad-Eye didn't press him further.

Instead, he pointed his wand at the spider, which was now on his desk again. "_Crucio_!" The spider's legs curled up and it began twitching madly, squealing in its high spidery voice in what Harry was certain was pain; he'd felt that curse's power first-hand, and felt intense pity for the poor creature.

After about twenty seconds, Moody let up on the curse, and Harry glanced at Neville whose face was whiter than a sheet, and his clenched hands were trembling frightfully. Another pang of pity and empathy surged through the Head of House Potter.

"The Cruciatus curse is the most savage of the three," Moody lectured as he paced in front of the dead-silent class. "Everyone feels it differently, but it is guaranteed to cause pain the likes of which you will never forget as long as you live. Hold it for ten seconds and the victim will shake for about an hour. Twenty seconds and they fall into unconsciousness. Hold it for longer than a minute straight, and they'll either die or go insane from the stress that the pain inflicts upon the psyche. It's no wonder why it's labelled an Unforgivable, eh?"

He stopped his pacing, and stared each one of them in the face with both eyes, making certain they were all giving him their full attention, finally settling on Harry, who stared back unflinchingly, knowing what was coming next.

"Then there's the last one." Keeping his good eye on Harry, Moody pointed his wand backwards and growled, "_Avada Kedavra._" The thin streamer of green light struck the spider, which promptly keeled over, deader than a doornail.

"The Killing curse is the epitome of the Unforgivables. It is single-minded magic, a spell designed for only one purpose. It steals life away, leaving no mark, and is normally unblockable. A solid shield will stop it, but any other defensive magic is useless against it. The only person ever to survive the Killing curse is sitting right in this classroom."

Harry felt everyone's eyes drawn to him as though he were a magnnet.

After milking the moment for all it was worth, Mad-Eye cleared his throat. "And now that you've all seen what the Unforgivable Curses are capable of, we'll be testing your willpower."

Something about that didn't sit quite right with Harry.

Suddenly, Dumbledore stepped out from a corner, where he'd previously gone entirely unnoticed. "Good afternoon, students," he said genially, eyes twinkling. "The school board has asked me to supervise this little exercise."

Mad-Eye grinned maliciously. "Don't want any 'accidents,' eh, Albus?" he snorted. He turned to the class. "I've been given permission to cast the Imperius curse upone each one of you, so that you know what it feels like to be utterly powerless."

There was a scattering of uneasy murmurs to answer Moody's statement. Daphne glanced at Harry with a slightly panicked gleam in her eye.

"He can't do that, can he?" she hissed at him.

Harry nodded grimly. "If he's gotten permission, then yeah." The Imperius was a tricky devil, but Harry knew for a fact that he could beat it. He'd almost killed Sirius once when it was applied to him by one of their targets, but he'd overcome it just in time to stop himself.

The panic in Daphne's expression quickly evolved into outright horror. Harry placed a calming hand on her shoulder discreetly and asked, "What's wrong, Daph?"

She glanced around, then lowered her voice. "Before the war was over," she whispered frantically, "my uncle had been a Death Eater, and he and my father had faced each other in several battles. My uncle and a few others managed to get past the wards on Greengrass Meadows, placed the Imperius on my mother, and had her kill my father. The Imperius is the reason my father is dead..."

Harry's grip tightened a bit on Daphne's shoulder, causing her to focus on him. He looked surprisingly somber compared to almost every other time she'd seen him, and his eyes shone with sadness, but also fierce anger. "Listen. You can beat this curse. _Imperio_ works to bend the target's will to the caster's orders, but if you can sharpen your determination to a point, there's a good chance that you'll be able to punch a hole through the magic and tear free."

Daphne gulped and nodded, still staring at this new side of Harry Potter in something akin to awed gratefulness. Thens she shook the cobwebs from her mind and focused on doing as he told her.

Moody went through the students at a time, barking the incantation of the Imperius curse and commanding them to do cartwheels and flips around the classroom. Daphne was called, and she watched as Moody's wand descended, his lips moving to form the the proper enunciation.

"_Imperio_!"

An intense feeling of disconnect shrouded Daphne's mind like a warm blanket. It felt...different from what she'd been expecting. A voice floated through her head: _Hop on the desk and do a backflip._

She felt her body reacting to the command, and remembered what harry had told her. _Sharpen your determination._ Her hands trembled as she tried to overcome Moody's curse, and she almost threw off his control as she stood on the desk. Then again, 'almost' only counts with horseshoes and hand-grenades.

Daphne's legs bent as she prepared to perform the reverse somersault, but her fight against Moody's control botched her acrobatic attempt, and she would've cracked her head on the stone floor if Harry hadn't conjured a memory-foam pad beneath her. Instead, she landed with a muffled thud.

He went to help her up. "Are you alright, Daph?" he whispered, concern lacing his voice as he crouched next to her.

"I-I couldn't do it," she mumbled, her voice halfway between anger and disappointment.

"Almost broke the spell," Moody growled, sounding very much impressed. "You've got an iron will, lass. Keep it up, and I might just give you a recommendation into the Auror corps." Then he looked back to the list in his hand and said, "Now, last up is you, Potter."

Harry stood up and crossed his arms. "Do your worst, Professor."

"_Imperio_!"

Harry allowed the sensation to worm its way into his consciousness, then trapped it there and squished it to smithereens against his Occlumency barrier like a mosquito against a windshield going eighty in a twenty-five zone.

"Now," Moody was saying, "why don't you tell me how much you love me, eh, Potter? Tell me I'm beautiful and that you want to snog the daylights out of me."

Deciding to have a bit of fun, he walked right up to the Mood, smiled his most shit-eating grin into the ex-Auror's scarred face, and said, quite clearly, "Fuck you and the fake leg you stumped in on, Professor."

The rest of the class sucked in a startled gasp, and Harry took a mental picture of Moody's gobsmacked expression.

Mad-Eye quickly got over his shock and started laughing out loud, which, in his rough voice, sounded like rocks in a blender. "You've got balls of steel, Potter! Just like your old man. And you broke the curse without me even noticing! Two points to...what house are you in today?"

"Hufflepuff," Harry answered glibly. He felt he'd accomplished something; the most points Moody had ever given anyone at once so far was one and a half to Cedric Diggory, who'd retrieved his false eye after it had spun right out of its socket during lunch a few days ago.

Right, two points to Hufflepuff." He turned to the class. "At this part of the demonstration, I was gonna cast the Imperius on Dumbledore and request that he murder the entire class..."

"...at which pointe, I would have sang you all a showtune," finished Dumbledore with a smile, "to show you that a powerful enough, or strong-welled enough magician can resist the Imperius curse, although harry seems to have demonstrated this quite qell. You must watch your language in the future, though, Mr. potter."

Harry simply smiled smugly.

After classes for the day were over, Harry and Daphne sat with their backs leaning up against an ancient oak tree, looking ou t over the lake. The cooling autumn air was crisp, and the early evening light was making Harry feel quite content.

If only Daphne would just let up...

"Seriously, Harry," she was saying. "Just give me a hint..."

Goaning, Harry forced his eyes open and gave her a sidelong glance of slight annoyance. "I've given you plenty of hints," he pointed out. "really, it's not _that_ difficult."

This had been an ongoing discussion since Daphne discovered that Harry could fly without the use of a broom or other means of magical transport. She simply couldn't manage to wrap her mind around the way he was able to accomplish such a feat.

"Is there a spell, or maybe a potion? Some sort of enchanted garment?" Daphne wondered aloud, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"There's not some great magical secret to flight," Harry aid, and Daphne shut up, giving her attention to him. In her mind, she did a little celebratory dance at having broken him down. "It's just a skill...well, more of a knack, really."

"And what would this knack pertain to?"

"Well, in order to fly, you simply need to have a knack at being able to throw yourself at the ground and...er...miss," Harry finished a bit lamely. Daphne stared at him, mouth hanging open a bit. Her confused face were really quite endearing, Harry thought.

"Excuse me?" Daphne asked, wondering if she'd misheard him, or somehowe misinterpreted his words.

"You need to throw yourself at the ground and miss," Harry reiterated. "The best way to do it is when you're a split-second away from hitting the ground and distracting yourslef so completely that you just forget to fall. Then, after your initial flight, it gets easier to get up into the air."

Harry smiled reminiscently. "I remember the first time I did it. I was in Manhattan, and me and Paddie were trailing this idiot who had, like, fifteen-thousand galleons worth of unpaid carpet parking tickets. During the chase, I tripped on a bum and took a header right down into a subway station. Just before I landed, I turned to my right and saw the most absurd thing I've ever seen in my life, and I just...well, I forgot to fall. Scared the living daylights out of that midget and the transvestite giving him an old-fashioned when I floated by them."

He turned to look at Daphne, who by then was trying to fight back the throbbing headache casued by Harry's riddiculously insane logic. "You okay?"

"Fine," she said, vowing to herself never to ask Harry how he did anything ever again. "Just fine."

"Bloody hell, Harry!" exclaimed ron Weasley, the twins' younger brother, and the youngest male Weasley. "Is that what I think it is?" He was indicating the fifty-yard-long hide that stretched all along the inner wall of the basilisk chamber.

With the incentive of the several pints of venom and a few feet of skin, Harry had bribed Professor Snape into helping him harvest the basilisk's corpse of any useable materials. Then, he'd set about fixing up the Chamber of Secrets to his own liking. If he was to spend the next three years in this castle, he might as well have a place to cal his own.

At the moment, all of the fourth-year Gryffindors were being given a tour of the newly redubbed Chamber of Awesome. The carvings of the pillars had been Transfigured into a multitude of different animals, and some clever runework animated them so that the large columns abounded with fantastical creatures. The statue of Salazar Slytherin was now a large, raised dais, upon wh ich rested a massive hot tub that could hold twenty people comfortably, and twenty-six uncomfortably.

Again, the hot tub had been outfitted with runic arrays that included heating and cheering rnes, several that created various scents, some on the bottom and sides of the tub that created jets of water. In short, it could do anything short of travel through time, and Harry was working on that.

Then there was the large block of stone that stood where Harry had destroyed the Horcrux.

Despite the various rituals and wards that Dumbledore had tried, the spot remained tainted by the evil magic within the diary.

Harry sighed at the thought. Stupid Draco. During the interrogation conducted by Dumbledore and witnessed by himself and the heads of houses, the young Malfoy scion had confessed to sneaking around in his father's secret room hidden in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. It was there that he found the cursed object, and began reading and learning from the young man in the journal.

The last time he'd seen Draco, at breakfast this morning, he'd been sporting a large bandage across his forehead that Harry was almost sure was the elder Malfoy's doing. In a way, Harry felt a bit sorry for the poor bastard after meeting with Lucius and seeing what a gaping asshole he was, but for now, there was nothing he could do about it. Draco would either have to man up or stand down.

"Hey, Harry, what's that?" Dean Thomas asked, pointing to the wall to their right and drawing Harry from his thoughts. Unlike the light stone the other walls were made of, this one was smooth and dark green in color.

"That's the best part of this place," Harry replied. He went over to a cluster of runes on the floor near the wall and cast an activating spell on it. Instantly, lights switched on around the wall and marine creatures darted away in surprise.

"Not a wall, a window," said Hermione Granger. Harry found her intelligence rather refreshing in the Gryffindor Common Room, where that particular trait was a bit lacking. Especially in Ron's case. "Harry is that the lake?"

"Harry grinned. "Ten points to Gryffindor. Pretty damn cool, huh? And check this out." He raised his wand and Summoned the projector screen from the top of the wall, then hooked the edge into place in a groove set into the floor. Then, in another swish, the projector turned on, and a movie started playing. The magical children were awed by the feat.

"How is that projector working?" Hermione asked, inspecting the device. "I thought the electronics were jammed by the magic that permeates Hogwarts?"

"Well, if you look here," Harry said, pointing out his leaching runic array, "these runes siphon off the ambient magic that surrounds the machine, and these ones convert the magic into electricity, which then charges the runic batery."

Hermione looked genuinely intrigued and continued to ask Harry questions about his unique runic designs all through the movie, while the rest of the fourth-years were entranced by the movie. After it was done, Harry showed them back to the entrance, where he Animated the staircase and ferried them back to Myrtle's bathroom while they muttered about how they'd 'really underestimated the Muggles these days.'

Harry went back to the antechamber and headed intno the tunnel that led to the private chambers. As he'd learned a few days ago, they had belonged to none other than Slytherin himself. A door with a painting hanging from it halted his progress, and he bowed to the portrait.

"Hello, Salazar," he said respectfully. "How are you today?"

The man in the painting was not the man Harry had once pictured in his mind when the name Salazar Slytherin came up. In fact, he'd always thought the founder of the Snake House would look a bit like Snape. Instead, the portrait depicted a tanned, dark-haird man with rugged features and neatly trimmed moustache.

"Quite well, Potter. It seems as though you saved the Gryffindors for last in your list of people to see your Chamber of...what did you call it? 'Awesome?'" The portrait scoffed. "No matter. What would you like to learn today?"

Since he'd discovered the painting and the rooms behind it, Harry had been learning various magicks that had long since been forgotten to the world. He was delighted by the fact that he was now training to become the first European shaman in over five centuries under the last English one himself.

Also on the training sheet were some seriously nasty spells that were quite popular in Salazar's time. It gave Harry an entirely different scope on the term 'going medieval on your ass.' Slytherin was also a highly accomplished swordmaster as well, and he showed Harry proper technique when dual-wielding. But the best thing about having Slytherin as a teacher wasn't the shamanism, the Dark-Age spells, the advanced sword training, or even the Parselmouth magic. No, it was the fact that the original Salazar had been an Illumage, a wizard with a magical core of the light nature, just like Harry.

After choosing something for Salazar to teach him that day, Harry went into the chambers, which he'd also given his personal touch. Much of th furniture and color-coding he'd left alone, except for the silver, which he'd turned black. Silver never really looked good on him.

The portrait opened into a large, spacious sitting room with a big fireplace on the far wall and a flat-screen telly he'd discreetly purchased in London during the most recent Hogsmeade trip sitting on the mantle. Surrounding the fireplace was a complete entertainment center that included pretty much every single game system on the planet, with movies, albums, and games galore. And thanks to a lucky discovery in an extremely random book he'd found in the Magical New York City Library, he now had a charm which could get a signal from a DirecTV satellite anywhere in the world. For free.

The flames from the fireplace warmed a massive black suede sectional couch that stretched out in front of a stained-oak coffee table, and several matching chairs resided nearby. One of the walls had been covered had been covered in shelves and stocked with books from Salazar's personal library in the training area.

One of Harry's favorite parts of this room was the bar he'd found the first time he'd come into the chambers. After stocking it with his favorite drinks, he'd learned quite by accident that the shelves had been enchanted to refill the bottles automatically, so he never had to buy any drinks ever again.

There were two doors that led away from the sitting room. One was a bathroom with a humongous, pool sized bathtub that had dozens of taps that filled it with different bubbles and scented water (a brilliant piece of runic know-how, in Harry's opinion). The other led to the bedroom, which had a bed bigger than the entire fourth-year boy's dormitory that had different runic settings that could put one to sleep, wake one up at a certain time, or set the mood for some...ahem...nice happy time. He had fun the first time he saw it, using a charm on the mattress that converted it into a trampoline before doing some mad ninja flips on it.

Harry grabbed a couple of books and left the sitting room. He didn't have to look back at the portrait to know that Salazar wasn't there. After turning down the last tunnel into the antechamber, Harry slowly felt the floor slope upward.

"Do you have the books?"

Harry turned his head and saw Salazar loping along with his bobing stride in a scenic Scottish forest. The painting he was in stretched almost the entire length of the tunnel. Slytherin said his real-life counterpart had commissioned it so that his paint-self could have a place to stretch his legs.

"Yup," Harry said, showing him the texts under his arm. "I'm pretty excited about today's session. Taming is what every shaman should know how to do."

Slytherin nodded. "Indeed it is, my young pupil. I shall lecture you upon the basics of Beast Taming while we walk." They continued along in silence while Salazar gathered his thoughts. "As I have told you before, a shaman's power comes not from within, as with most magic-wielders, but from the spirits in the world around them. When you control the spirits of objects, many of them are either non-living, dead, or pure."

"Beast gtaming, however, is the controlling of the fully-alive spirit of an animal, not dissimliar from the Imperius curse. The shaman envelopse the spirit with his magic and bends it to their will. The process is much more difficult than taking charge of a non-living or dead object, but infinitely less complicated than enveloping a pure spirit."

"So what, exactly is a _pure_ spirit?" Harry asked. He'd already managed to control the movements of a rock that weighed half a ton without a bit of drain on his magic. He could also manipulate most flora (except for thyme for some odd reason), as well as impose his will upon corpses and have them do his bidding. This meant, on top of all his other talents, he was a budding necromancer.

"Well, since you are trained as an alchemist, you would know the spirit as a soul. It is the very essence of every object, element, and creature ont hsi planet. the spirit of an object or creature is tainted by earthly energies of whatever vessel it resides in. This means that even a Muggle can call forth and command that spirit, if they are so trained to do.

"Pure spirits, on the other hand, roam the universe freely. To puut them in the plainest words absolutely possible, they are a concentration of unfathomable amounts of energy that only a shaman can learn to control. These pure spirits come in a variety of species. You may not know this, but the Wicca that you studied actually stemmed from shamanism."

"What? How the hell are those two branches of magic related?" Harry asked, trying to figure it out even as he questioned his master.

"In the time before the great Empires of this world, before even King Gilgamesh of Mesopotamia, a group of shamans, whose number was equal to that of the species of spririts, decided to try channeling the spirits through their bodies by forcing a call to them through the very fabric of reality. This brought all but six spirits to them, and the ritual the shamans devise pushed them into the bodies of the humans."

"So that's it?"

"No, of course it isn't," Salazar snapped, glaring at him for interrupting. "The spirits' energy was much too much for any one person to control, and they broke free from their earthly shells, leaving the shamans nearly dead. When they recovered, however, they learned that they had much better control over a single element, and could synchronize with the ambient magic much easier than before the ritual. Over hundreds of years, those shamans' descendants have become todays magic-users, and some can tap into their ancient heritages as Elemages."

"What six spirits weren't summoned?"

"The six most powerful pure spirits. "The ones who were strong enough to resist the Call. They are Temporal, Spatial, Celestial, Infernal, Death, and Life. Only a shaman with the power to melt a star could ever hope to harness those spirits.

"Okay then," said Harry. He made up his mind then and there to get strong enough to bring all of those spirits under his control. "So, back tot he Beast Taming..."

30th of October, 2003

Front Lawn, Hogwarts, Somewhere in Northern Scotland...or...whatever...

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked an exasperated Daphne. Harry, who'd been discreetly trying to light up a fatty, started and gave her a guilty grin.

Harry stood near the front of the assembled Hogwarts students, hanging out with Daphne and Tracey in the Slytherin line. So far, they'd been standing in the cool October air, wondering just when the hell the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang parties would arrive.

"Um, trying to decipher the mysteries of the universe by opening my very soul to the ravages of space and time?" he tried. An unimpressed glare, complete with an arched eyebrow, was his answer. "Heh, well, I'm bored. I could start pulling off some of the pranks me and the twins planted earlier than expected..."

"Maybe you should just stick with the weed," Tracey suggested, glancing around nervously to make sure there were no pranks aimed at her. Harry and the twins had proven themselves to be an even more formidable team than the Marauders of old had been. They sometimes went at each other in epic prank wars that sometimes ended with one or more of them with rather embarrassing additions (and subtractions) to their anatomy. But to the rest of the student body, they were rather nicer when it came to pranks. Except when it came to Snape, because, really, who could resist taking the overgrown bat down a few pegs every once in a while?"

Harry flicked his arm and cast an Air-Cleansing ward over his person and sparked up the joint.

Eventually, one of the third-year girls shrieked and pointed upward with a trembling hand. "I-it's a dragon!" she exclaimed as other people noticed the large shadow moving swiftly across the sky.

"Don't be thick," Collin Creevy retorted, rolling his eyes. "It's obviously a flying house. Collin's guess was closer to the truth; it turned out to be an enormous carriage pulled by a brace of beautiful, if intimidating, Abraxan. It was powder blue, and the Beauxbatons coat of arms was stamped proudly on the door to the carriage.

A young man stumbled out and unlatched a small set of steps, then moved back and saluted.

Harry, having met Madame Maxime on a few occassions when she visited Master Flamel during his apprenticeship, knew what to expect. Daphne and Tracey, however, didn't, and gawped at the gigantic woman in all her glory.

Ron Weasley, under a heavy Glamour to make him look Asian (as well as to hide his identity), suddenly leapt forward, pointed dramatically, and in a fake Japanese accent, cried, "Ran! Eet's Godzirra!"

Then he made a quick escape before anyone could react. Most of the Common-born students couldn't help but laugh until they dropped, and Harry, smirking, turned to Daphne slightly and muttered, "I totally paid him ten galleons to do that."

"I don't doubt it," Daphne replied dryly, though she had a smile on her face, nonetheless.

After a few moments of confusion, Madame Maxime walked over to Dumbledore, followed by her contingent of students.

"Dumbleedor," she announced with a small smile in order to greet the aging headmaster. "Eet 'as been too long. I 'ope you are doing well?"

"As good as to be expected froma man my age, my dear," Dumbledore replied, chuckling slightly, eyes twinkling. "I welcome you to my humble school Madame Maxime."

Olympme turned to examine the students around Dumbledore and did a slight double-take when she spotted Harry's unruly thatch of hair. he grinned and gave her a small salute (making sure to hide his weed), which she nodded to regally in reply.

Dumbledore led the Beauxbatons students into the castle, and as they passed, a girl who was wearing a thin scarf around her neck and a mane of platinum-blonde hair was beginning to turn the heads of most of the males present. 'Twas many a boyfriend who got their feet stomped or shins kicked because of the charm this woman seemed to cast.'

Tracey forced her elbow into a gaping Blaise's gut and he 'oomph'ed loudly as he doubled over. "Keep your eyes in your head, you prick," Tracey stated primly as she glared at the girl's back.

"'Snot his fault," Harry muttered, eyes narrowed as he watched the girl go. "She's got some sort of magical allure; there's definitely creature blood in her. Maybe a nymph or siren, but most likely veela. Wonder if she can go avian?"

"How d'you know that?" Daphne asked. She was secretly thankful that Harry hadn't turned into a complete idiot like many of the other boys. Maybe there was hope for him yet?

"Hm? Oh, well, I've...er...well...I've _encountered_ one or two on my travels," Harry said evasively, stumbling through the sentence and causing Daphne to rescind her previous thought. Blaise gave him a discreet thumbs-up. Or, it would've been if tracey hadn't caught it and kneed him in the hamstring.

As the Beauxbatons students passed through the great oak doors, there was a massive detonation of bright purple smoke that shot out little sparkles of golden light. Someone must've cast some sort of wind-summoning charm to dispel it, because the smoke blew away to reveal that all the students had undergone a wardrobe change.

All the males had gained black trousers held up by black suspenders, a black-and-white-striped shirt, some gloves, and lots of white face-paint, while the girls were now done up in a French maid's outfit, complete with feather duster and garters.

Amidst the laughter and indignant cries of outrage, Harry caught the Twins' eyes and grinned. They returned the smile with a wink and a nod. One down, several to go. The three of them decided that it would be best to go the route of Transfiguration and Potions, when it came to giving their guests a 'proper' greeting, since those were apparently the two strongest points on the Hogwarts curriculum. And since the French were pretty much nothing but mimes and maids, why not give them a proper dose of Transfigurative textile magic?

Dumbledore, with a very amused twinkle in his eyes, started to disenchant the Transfiguration, only to find that, upon doing so, the Beauxbatons students' robes began to disintegrate, leaving them in nothing but their undergarments, which were promptly colored tie-dye by another of the supplementary charms added to the inital Transfiguration.

The Twins had recently developed a way to combine different types of magic for different or additional effects as well as reactions to a simple dispell-magic, along with other things. Harry had taken that and run with it, creating variations of his own using the wellspring of knowledge he'd gathered.

After realizing that simple magic wouldn't stop the enchantments, Dumbledore chuckled lightly and began to conjure sky-blue overrobes for those already affected and offered the use of one of Hogwarts many water closets to the remaining students.

Madame Maxime was offered an apologetic smile, which she ignored. Rolling her massive eyeballs, Olympe ushered her students into the castle.

After another few minutes of waiting, Harry'd finished off his paper plane and was looking for soemthing else to do. "Hey, Daph," he whispered so that only she could hear him.

Turning slightly, Daphne hissed back, "What?" knowing very well that something either insanely stupid or madly brilliant would come out of his mouth.

"How 'bout we get the hell outta here and headd down to the Chamber of Awesome to get the party set up?"

"Party?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, looking at her oddly. It was common knowledge that he was throwing a party in the Chamber in honor of the new guests. He was startled that she didn't know about it. "It was the unofficial 'Welcome to Hogwarts' party for the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. I'm suure I remember telling you about it."

Now that she thought about ti, that _did_ sound familiar. She glanced around, noting the bored faces staring off into space, or chatting with others, and decided. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt..."

Harry beamed. "Excellent! Hang onto my arm." He offered her a hand, which she took hold of, then manipulated his remaining hand into several distinct magical sign. There was a small pop, and they were gone.

Tracey, who'd been staring rather dumbly at her shoe, turned at the sound, only to find harry and Daphne standing exactly where they'd been. Shrugging to herself, she went back to staring at her shoe.

Daphne and Harry were strolling down the second floor corridor toward the entrance to the Chamber. "What did you do?" Daphne asked, still wondering how he'd done what he'd done.

Harry offered her a wink. "It's called the Replacement Technique," he explained, opening the door of Myrtle's bathroom and holding it open for her. "I use a bit of magic to turn some random piece of debris into something that looks like me-and you, in this case-then teleport out of there, leaving our look-a-likes in our place. No one'll ever know any better."

"You certainly have quite a few tricks up your sleeve," Daphne said as he opened the way for them and created the moving staircase. "So, you know about the Yule Ball, right?"

"The what-kinda ball?" Harry asked, distracted.

"The Yule Ball," Daphne reiterated, and he couldn't quite tell, but he was almost positive she was blushing. "They always have one during the Tournament. It's a dance held on the night of Yuletide, as the name suggests."

"Oh," Harry said simply. He searched for a proper response. "Well, that's cool. My party'll be better, though."

He sensed more than saw her roll her eyes. "We'll see," she muttered, and Harry mentally wiped his brow in relief. He knew what she was aiming for, and it sounded like it could be rather fun to go to a ball with Daphne, but if he was being truthful, he didn't really know what his feelings for the Slytherin girl were, exactly.

Sure, he had lots of fun when he was with her, more than most people in the castle, actually. and she was definitely beautiful, prettier than almost any girl in any year. But the closest thing to love he'd ever known was what he'd felt for his godfather, the man who'd saved him from a life of crime and decay in New York. He couldn't honestly say he felt the same way about Daphne, but that was a given, seeing as how she was a lot easier on the eyes than old Padfoot, and also becaus he didn't swing for the other team.

No, Hary decided as they found themselves in the much-improved-upon antechamber. He'd just have to wait and see what the next two months had in store. Only time would tell, and that son of a bitch didn't give up his secrets very easily.

Fred and George noticed when Harry and Daphne left.

"The ol' Switcheroo," Fred admired, nodding in approval.

"We should've thought of that years ago," George added, rubbing his chin and wishing painfully that he had a beard to stroke. After all, most evil geniuses (or was it evil genii?) had beards or goatees to give a contemplative tug every once in a while.

Heheh. Tug.

After relating to his twin the thoughts he'd just thought and sharing a laugh over them, George continued. "But if Harry's gone, that means we'll have to activate the runework after the Bulgarians drink that potion."

"I wonder if Harry's got a pensieve," Fred wondered aloud. "Then we'll be able to show him our incredible craftiness and his amazing house-elf's resourcefuulness."

"Too right, Gred, too right."

After a large vessel appeared from within the lake, a longboat was dispatched and a bunch of Durmstrang students and staff disembarked onto the shore. Dumbledore greeted their headmaster cordially, and then the Bulgarians entered teh castle, followed by the entirety of Hogwarts' population.

Fred and George watched as faux-Harry and immitation-Daphne moved along with the Slytherins. Their movements were rather comical, and it drew strange looks from Davis and Zabini that had the Twins sniggering to themselves.

As they walked back through the doors and into the Entrance Hall, they could hear Ron waxing eloquent about how Viktor Krum was with the Durmstrang contingent, with an expresion that he usually wore when he had to take a whiz.

"Six sickles says ron makes an idiot of himself in front of Krum at the feast," George muttered.

"I'll bet it's at the party," Fred shot back with a grin. The two silently shook hands.

After they took their usual seats at the Gryffindor taable and everyone else settled down, the Headmaster stood and began to speak.

"Welcome to the Samhain Celebration Feast," He said in that impressive old-man voice of his. Fred briefly thought that Dumbledore's old-man voice was probably something that other old-man voices looked up to, and whose old-man voice called those other ones 'whipper-snappers' unabashedly. "I am pleased to welcome our visitors from the Beauxbatons Academy of magic and Durmstrang Institute of Sorcery. It is not too often that we have company here, you know," he said in a light tone as his eyes twinkled madly.

George idly wondered if that was normal, or if there was something wrong with Dumbledore's eyes.

"But before we get to the reason our guests are here in the first place, let us, as they say, 'chow down!'"

With an expansive wave of his arms, the food appeared on the plates and platters magically, and the next hour and a half were filled with the sound of silverware (or was it goldware in this case?) scraping against plates and laughter and idle chatter.

During the dessert course, there was a rather strange occurrence. Over at the Slytherin table, the Durmstrang students all began looking a bit nauseous, clutching their stomachs and turning red in the face until, with an almighty bang like a gunshot and copious amounts of blood-red smoke, they all transformed into large bears.

But that wasn't the strangest part, not by far. Perched ontop of the bears' heads were tiny red fez caps, and their enormous arms were shoved into the tiny holes of open-chested vests of the same color, hemmed in thread-of-gold. But not even _that_ was what made such a strange happening so bizarre. No, it was the unicycles the bears were perched on, moving slightly back and forth to keep from toppling over.

Fred, George, and Harry hadn't had anything very funny to use against the Bulgarians as a whole, but they did agree that Bulgarian accents were suspiciously similar to Russian accents. And when one thinks of Russia, one thinks of bears on unicycles.

The elixer that Dobby had slipped into the Bulgarians' goblets had begun the change from within, and the accompanying draught in the desserts activated the first and initiated the transformation to the ursine creatures. Fred and George had manually activated the clothing Transfiguration, and Harry had supplied the neccessary runes to creat unicycles that would be nigh on impossible to lose balance on.

The Hall burst into laught as the bears did a few laps before the potions and charms wore off, and the Bulgarians, looking rather more surly than before, went back to their tables not bothering to finish their desserts.

Fred and George gave each other discreet low-fives beneath the Gryffindor table, and vowed to give Harry a high-five at the party later on for such a job well-done.

"Gred my dear brother, I do believe we might have outdone ourselves tonight."

"Forge, my dear brother, I do believe you're right."

After the various speeches by the three headmasters and two department heads of the Ministry, the students began to shuffle out. The first- through third-years all headed up to their dorms, and a few of the upper years did as well. Most of the student body, though, trickled up to the second-floor girl's loo (A/N: See, HP-DG-SB? I remembered!)

Or at least that's what the door said. Once through the door, one would find themselves in a lavishly-decorated sitting room with a rather less-mopey Moaning Myrtle, who was doing ghost-shots with Peeves the poltergeist near the extremely out-of-place toilet fixtyre.

Directly opposite Myrtle's throne was a large, circular opening where a staircase seemed to be moving down into the bowels of Hogwarts. Some of the visitors seemed a bit skeptical of the escalator at first, but once they saw the local residents of the castle step on without batting a lasth, they quickly cottoned onto the idea.

After the moving stairs ended, they would find themselves in a large antechamber with a ceiling so high it could've easily fit a fully-grown Hyperborean giant under it, with room enough for a second one to sit comfortably on its shoulders. The chamber's walls were lined with tables laden down with various snack foods, dips, and punches. The center had been cleared for the most part, and music the likes of which the purebloods had never heard of was blasting from a rune-covered boom-box, providing a beat for the dancers on the floor.

From this chamber, party-goers would have a choice of three rooms to enter, from left to right.

The first was the main party chamber, where there was an extremely large projector screen on the far wall, which was playing the movie _Pulp Fiction _on an endless loop. Nearby was a large hot-tub, filled to the brim with people, as well as several long tables, upon which sat varying numbers of plastic cups, some filled with beer, others empty and on the sidelines. Next to most of these tables were people who were explaining the ingenious games of Beer Pong and Flip Cup to those poor depraved individuals who had never heard of such games.

The second room was really just a very long hallway with a scenic landscape painting along it, with more snacks and drinks and things on yet more tables. At the far end was a raised dais in front of a massive set of double-doors. Upon the dais was a strange machine with a microphone and screen attached to it, where some of the braver (or more drunken) revellers got up and sang in what was called a 'Karaoke competition.'

The third and final room was reserved for the Very Important People, and was much more comfortable than the other places in that it had a large, squashy sofa and a cool piece of electronics called a 'television,' where the VIPs were taking turns playing 'video games.' It was all very intriguing.

But the one thing that all the party-goers could count on was the veritable ball of awesomeness that was Harry Potter. No matter where one was in the Chamber of Awesome, one could bet that they'd meet up with the host with the most at one point or another. With a drink in one hand, an expertly-rolled wrapped marijuana cigarette in the other, and a whole helluva lot of frivolity in his heart, he was the proverbial 'Life of the Party.'

"Oi, Harry!" exclaimed Fred (or was it George? By this point, Harry neither knew nor cared). "Let's show these French punks who's boss at Flip Cup!"

Harry, who'd been hanging out with a bevvy of hot witches of varying nationalities in the hot tub, was immediately out of the jacuzzi, wand in hand and a drying spell on his lips as he sauntered over to the nearest Flip Cup table.

By the time he'd reached it, he was dry and (thanks to the textile-conjuring spells) clothed in a (mostly over-the-toop) fur coat, a Viking helm, and a large clock on a necklace. He studied the five French punks in question on the other side of the table for a moment, all of whome tried to put on intimidating faces that gave them a rather constipated look.

Then he turned to George (or was it Fred?) and said, "I'm in."

Instantly, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, who'd been waiting for an answer, all cheered and took positions opposite the French competitors.

"Okay, everyone!" Harry told them, Teleporting a humongous pitcher of beer to his hand and pouring each cup to the very brim with the magical (figuratively speaking) brew, "do we all know the rules?" When he recieved affirmative answers from everyone, he grinned. "Okay, then!" He threw the pitcher off to the side, which vanished before it hit anything. "Three...two...one...GO!"

Alicia and the first Frenchman raised the cups to their lips and started drinking. Alicia showed herself to be quite the accomplished drinker, polishing off the cup much more quickly than her counterpart before up-ending the cup on the edge of the table, mouth-down, and flicking her hand upwards, causing the cup to spin around in the air and land right-side up just as her opponent finished drinking.

Cheering, Angelina chugged her beer as fast as she could, and managed to right her cup on her third try while the first Frenchie was still struggling to do the same with his. George took his hops injection quickly, but had a bit of trouble getting his cup to stand upright, allowing the other team to catch up.

Katie and the French girl across from her finished their drinks almost simultaneously, and both got their cups to stand straight on the first attempt. Down to the wire, the French team believed that they could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

Oh, those poor miserable idiots. They never won anything, didn't they know that?

Harry grabbed his cup and downed the beer contained within in the time it took for his adversary to simply lift the plastic to his lips, dropped the cup on the table and with a quick flick of his wrist, the game was over.

"Yay-yuh!" Harry shouted, pumping his fist in the air as Katie turned and hugged him tightly. "Eat a dick, you Beauxbatons trash! Hogwarts rules!" The chant was quickly taken up by first the team, then the rest of the Hogwarts students nearby.

"Hogwarts rules! Hogwarts rules! Hogwarts rules! Hogwarts-"

"You really think you are better than us at the game of drink?" a quiet, surly voice came from behind Harry, who spun around qicklky to find himself face-to-face with none other than Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker extrordinaire.

"Hell yeah, I do!" Harry responded without a hint of hesitation, a smirk coming to his face quickly.

Viktor snapped his fingers, and a small table, two chairs, and a bottle of vodka was brought forward by several members of his entourage. "Ve shall see who is better drinker, then, ya?"

"Ya," Harry answered in a Russian accent, taking a seat across from Viktor and conjuring two rows of ten shotglasses before them. "Ve shall indeed see, commrade. First to ten shots vins."

He poured a healthy amount of vodka into each glass before setting down the bottle and picking up his first glass, gesturing for Krum to do the same. "Bottoms up!"

The two clinked their glasses together in a show of good sportsmanship before downing the first shot at the same time. They kept throwing back the liquor at an equal pace until about the sixth shot, when Krum began lagging behind. By the time Harry had polished off his tenth and final dose of Russian liquor, Viktor was still struggling to down his eighth.

Harry, now beyond drunk, sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Krum a smug grin. "Looks like Hogwarts RULES!"

The chant started up again, and this time, there was nothing stopping it. Until, of course, a retardedly drunk and stark-naked Ron ran through the chamber, screaming, "I LOVE YOU VIKTOR KRUM!" at the top of his inebriated lungs.

Discreetly, George handed Fred six silver pieces.

**A/N: **So that's the end of that chapter. Once again, I apologize for the late update. I'll try to hurry up on this mother of a fic, but my mind keeps throwing plot bunnies at me for different genres of fanfiction, and some of those little bastards have _really _sharp teeth.

On an unrelated note, I know this is blatant self-advertising, but you guys are really good reviewers, and I need some of you to check out my other works. If anybody likes rock bands, drug- and alcohol-abuse, and Pokemon fanfiction, drop by my author's page and check out my Poke-fic, titled _Flash Cannon_. I have a startlingly low number of reviewers on that fic (2) despite the high word count (about 53,000), and I really want to know what other people think of it...otherwise, it makes me a _Sad Panda_ :( I also have a Bleach fic called _Return of the King, _which is still in the early stages, but...yeah. Anyways, please, _please_ give me some feedback. I crave it like I crave the crack-cocaine (just kidding, though; weed's my number-one gal, and alcohol is my only mistress).

And now for some reviewer replies.

**Jrf Steel:** Action-packed chapters are great, especially without the drama. and as for Harry, I do believe his skirt-chasing days are numbered, and the clock is ticking quickly.

**Ex10: **Hell yeah, man! That's what I'm talking about!

**O Jordino O: **Hey, you changed your name! Anyway, this is only the eighth chapter of what I hope will be a story with maybe a couple dozen. Patience is a virtue, and when it comes to my Harry, it will be greatly rewarded. You want some bad-ass magic that will reshape the land with a click of the trigger or a swing of the sword? You want spells that will crush his enemies and strike fear into their commrades' hearts? Oh, it will be glorious when it happens. Trust me and have a bit of faith. I don't wanna lose any readers because of something I did wrong. Oh, and I hope you don't think I'm a perv or anything, but I've been reading your _Bloodline of Lust _fic, and all I can say is "Yowza!"

**blackroselover: **Sorry to disappoint, but I've got a plan for poor ol' Drakey-poo that'll have even the most die-hard Draco-haters cringing in sympathy. And what happens in the Chamber stays in the Chamber. Except syphylis. And AIDS.

**Amber-Says-Go-Die: **I'm glad somebody thought it was a cool fight. I thought so, but then again, I might be a tiny bit biased in my opinion. Your patience will be rewarded in a few chapters, when Harry and Daphne end up together. There's a bit of HxD interaction in this chapter, but it's more or less platonic...for now. BWAHAHAHAHA.

**ceo55: **Thank you, and yes, he does! Check out Draco's inital punishment in this cahppe, so that was a little of what you wanted.

**HP-DG-SB. **Thanks again. and for those who've been asking (you included), Harry is indeed one powerful S.O.B. (he outsmarted Nicolas Flamel, for Christ's sake!). It's just that for now, Voldemort is simply that much more powerful. Trust, though, Harry got a new tutor, some new magic to study, and he's growing in strength each and every day. And thanks for the correction, too. I'll get right on editing the last chapter. I rectified the fuck-up in this chapter (did you see my shout-out?) I'll be waiting for your next review.

**slimjim84: **SNAP INTO A YOU! Sorry. Anyway, it's nice to see a new reader (and even better to see a new reviewer), I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Anyway, Bushy'll havee his part to play later on down the line, but he'll be more of a pet than a familiar, if anything. Nobody fucks with Morpheus' position and lives, and Bushy's smart enough to know that.

**RogueNya: **Ol' Lucy vaguely knew what the diary was for, though not many people know what a Horcrux is, after all. It was explained in this chapter how Draco got his grubby little hands on the diary, and as for the Horcrux's apparent knowledge, well...let's just say that I've got a bit of a surprise in store for that. Spoiler alert! Draco's gonna die. And it'll be bad. He won't be bad, but he won't be good, either. He'll just be that one guy on the fringe of the war that doesn't wanna be involved. Like Switzerland, or the Neutral Planet.

**vizard: **Based on your previous rveiw, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume that 'over the top' and 'unbelievable' aren't words of kindness, but I'm taking it as a compliment anyway with a huge middle finger to anyone who says otherwise. Unbelievable to me expresses awe and slight bewilderment, while over the top is a phrase that has been used in reference to me so many times by so many different people, that it's become a term of endearment amongst my friends. So long and thanks for all the fish. I mean reviews. Yeah.

**rb2312: **Don't count your chickens before they hatch, my friend. You get a T for Troll! Just kidding, though. That particular scene won't happen until four or five c hapters down the line. For now, I'm just trying to solidify the frame-work for their friendship before I jump into anything like that.

**ARASHI2196: **Thanks for the praise, but I'm sorry if I disappoint when I say that this will be a strictly HxD fiction. To be honest, I have no idea what the appeal other guys see in having a harem. I mean, yeah, you get a lot of women to love, but you're also saddled with the work involved to keep all of them pleased. And the drama between them? Fuggeddaboutit! Give me one good girl and I'll be happy. In regards to tips for writing...well, just do your best, learn from your mistakes, and by all means, don't take flames to heart. Flamers are just assholes seeking to raise their own egos by knocking the legs out from under others. What I've learned from reading an ass-ton of HP fics and writing this one is that people don't like to just see Harry having a cool-ass wand and a bajillion Animagus forms; it's what he does with the magic he knows, y'know? I'm sure you'll do great. Just have faith in yourself and fuck all the haters.

**lectorsum: **Wow. That's probably one of the best reviews I've gotten. Like...ever. You made me a very happy panda with your words, and I hope you review upon this newest chapter. And to be frank, you should be wishing fair fortune upon the authors of the many, _many _fanfictions I've read over the years that helped me gain inspiration for this mash-up of half-baked ideas and random plot points I've come up with. This fic is pretty much the equivalent of tossing a bunch of stuff into a blender, hitting puree and praying that it doesn't taste like barf. Heh. Thanks again.

**Elfwyn: **Yeah, I know it seems like a huge plot hole, but I just find that most authors discredit old Moldyshorts and his abilities, y'know? I mean, he didn't become one of the most feard Dark Lords in centuries just 'cause he's got a gang of thugs who throw more money than spells during war. He had some serious fuckin' power at his fingertips, and that's part of the reason why so many magicians put Harry on a pedestal at such a young age. At least, that's how it is in my twisted mind. Your mileage may vary, of course. Anyway, thanks for the review, and I hope you keep reading.

**Tomon: **Good luck finding me! I'm like a...like a Green Beret sneaking past enemy lines to rescue my captured brother in arms or something...like...like the wind or soemthing...heh. But thanks for saying that. I'm happy now.

**Victorules: **I answered your question about the levitation thing with a tiny little scene right after the Moody-Unforgivables scene. To fly, simply throw yourself at the ground and...er...miss. I advise you not to try that at home. My body's still aching from when I tried to fly off my roof. And I'm still looking for that tooth...

**Luc: **Thank you very much. I'm sorry about Sirius, and also about your disappointment involving Albus. There will be several altercations when Harry tells Dumbledore to eat a dick...more or less, but I've seen Manipulative!Dumbles done far, _far_ too often for me to even want to take a crack a the old dude. Besides, canon!Harry has many more grievances against Dumbledore than Adventures!Harry does, so it's not entirely unthinkable.

**HolyDragoon: **I...this...what...AWESOME! That line made me piss myself...luckily I was already in the bathroom, so tragedy was avoided. I'm glad that at least _some_body gets my reasons for not turning this int a Manipulative!Dumbledore fic, and lol on that goat-raping thing! As for Voldemort's demise, well...let's just say that he'll wish he'd never been born before his soul departs from this plane of existence. Or at least, he'll wish that harry had never been born.

**InstigateInsanity:** Wow, I'm glad you enjoyed my stoned-ass writing! I totally know where you're coming from concerninLord Jag the whole Super!Harry genre, and I'm glad that I was able to stand on my tippy-toes to get that couple inches above the rest in your eyes. Thanks a lot, and I'll try to keep updating.

Thanks also to **Lord Jace, mwinter1, sh8ad8ow, ASRFTW, wef1, HP Fan 36, murdrax, narutoshamanking, TxA-GunFighter, ILikeComps, call015, Dark Dragen, Debate4life, Ratus, grr, shubhendu dutta, lego-king, mcgurrin, James018, LAxHellRaiser, Lord of the light Cartwright, DeathSr, captain H.M Murdock, mercedez, Lolxxx, TheUnheeded, SeaBreeze2Ga, **and **Kitsune Farron.**

**Well, that's the end of this. I hope I don't disappoint with the next one. Review. For the love of God, review!**


	9. Admission of Defeat

Hey, everyone. So...I've been thinking about this for a very long time, and I've finally come to the conclusion that I can't keep writing fanfiction at the present time. There's too much bullshit going on in my life right now, and I have to deal with all of that before I can even think about frolicking in the fields of fandoms. Maybe sometime in the future, I'll start writing some more, but as of right now, it's just not an option.

Please don't hate me, even though it's fully in your rights to do so. I just had a very close relative pass on, which isn't reason enough to be deleting my profile, but coupled with the fact that my oldest and dearest friend killed himself on Valentine's Day...well, you get the idea.

To all of you who have favorited, followed, or reviewed my stories, thank you. Thank you _so_ much for all the wonderful things and constructive criticisms you've offered me. Also, I apologize with all my heart that I won't be able to continue these tales that you enjoyed, or that I might have disappointed you with this news.

On that note, I would be fully willing to let any of you take the helm and adopt any of my stories. I would hate for my fanfics to die; I can't keep up with them, but I put a lot of effort into some of them, while others have just begun, and it breaks my heart that I won't be the one to finish them.

If anyone wants to adopt, please PM me so I can check out your own writing. Be warned, some of these fics have minds of their own, and are very difficult to wrestle into submission; trust me, I know from experience.

Other than that, I wish all of you luck in life,

Fullmetal Wetback


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